


Praying for Rain

by Midnight_Lupus



Category: Moominvalley (Cartoon 2019), Mumintroll | Moomins Series - Tove Jansson
Genre: Fluff and Angst, Joxter is a good dad, M/M, Minor Character Death, Snusmumriken | Snufkin Has Paws and a Tail, instinctive behaviors are fun to write, this just sort of came to me so here we go
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-06-19
Updated: 2019-10-09
Packaged: 2020-05-14 13:35:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 24,629
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19274380
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Midnight_Lupus/pseuds/Midnight_Lupus
Summary: "It had been dry, hot summer; on that everyone could agree." When a shortage of rain brings drought to Moominvalley, the strain begins to take a toll on the residents. After a natural disaster brings drastic change, Moomin and Snufkin must learn to cope with unexpected challenges, strong feelings, and a place where the instinct to survive can cause those with weaker spirits to lose all sense of right and wrong.





	1. News from the Outside

**Author's Note:**

> I found this show about two weeks ago and immediately was hooked. This idea popped into my head and I just sort of had to write it down. If people like this first chapter (and maybe the next as well) then I'll probably post more of it and just see how things roll from there.

        It had been a dry, hot summer; on that they could all agree. The sun had risen with a vengeance each morning as if to make up for its absence during the night and then proceeded to try and scorch everything it could reach. The grass was yellowed and long, waving gently in the breezes that would dare try and cool off the valley, and the trees away from the stream were dry and wilting. A haze of heat shimmered above the ground, tricking unwary insects into losing their way as they attempted to fly and find food amidst their sweltering environment. The stream itself was still running well, fed by snowmelt from the Lonely Mountains, and during the day animals from all over the valley would come to drink, lamenting the ponds and water-meadows that had shriveled up. 

         The heat, of course, didn’t do much to stop the young of the valley from having their fun. The ocean recedes from nothing, after all, and plenty of fun was to be had by the stream where the flowers still bloomed and the grass stayed stubbornly green. Moomin and his friends would spend their mornings wandering, and then by the hottest part of the afternoon they were usually to be found paddling in the stream or curled up in the shade, listening to Snufkin’s harmonica. The Snork was still working on his flying ship, somehow withstanding the stuffy heat of the warehouse even though his glasses fogged any time he opened the door to let in a breeze. Snorkmaiden scorned the musty building and scorching heat, preferring to spend her time at Moominhouse, helping Moominmama with the cooking and berating Sniff for purloining tastes of everything when her back was turned. 

          That naturally left Moomin, Snufkin, and Little My to have the adventures. Little My seemed somehow unaffected by the weather, though she was the smallest of the three and had less fur. Snufkin had abandoned his green coat in favor of his undershirt-- a simple undyed button-down, the pale cloth only broken by the brown of his suspenders. His face had grown slightly more angular over the years, but was still blessedly free of fur. The same could not be said for his paws, however, which had a healthy covering of wood-brown hair across the backs which ran along his outer arm to his elbows; that had been a recent development, as had the fur on the tops of his feet. Snufkin’s lack of coat allowed for more notice of his tail, which would twitch animatedly as soon as an unlucky fish bit onto his line. 

       Moomin had probably the shortest summer coat he’d ever grown, and thankfully his white fur reflected most of the heat instead of absorbing it. He pitied the Ant Lion, with its dark mane of fur, who only ventured out at night to save itself from being cooked within its own pelt. Most creatures had become nocturnal or crepuscular, sleeping through the hottest part of the day; all except for Miss Fillyjonk though, who kept her family on their rigid routine no matter the temperature. 

     None of that mattered though as the three young friends dabbled their paws in the stream that afternoon, occasionally kicking water up just to watch the droplets come down like little incandescent gems. The sound of footsteps drew them from their reverie, causing the youths to turn. 

     “Dad?” Snufkin blinked in surprise, his tail moving in what suspiciously appeared to be a wag before the boy wrapped it firmly around his right leg. 

     The Joxter tilted his head to one side, mimicking his offspring’s tone. “Son?”

     “Little My, how do you do.” The mymble stood impatiently, rolling her eyes. “Honestly you act as if you’ve never seen one another before.”

     “Little My, hm? Pleasure to meet you, I’m the Joxter.” 

     Moomin couldn’t help a giggle at the mischievous glint in the mumrik’s eyes. The man was wearing a pleasantly blasé expression as he regarded the scowling girl. Catching the noise, Joxter winked at the moomintroll. 

     Furrowing his brows, Snufkin swung around so that he could sit cross-legged on the bridge. “What brings you into Moominvalley?”

     “You mean beyond wanting to visit my offspring and see my friends?” One dark eyebrow raised into a quirk. “I wanted to see if the drought was affecting here too.”

     “Is it bad outside the valley?” Moomin turned as well, his tail subconsciously curling around the lower slat of the bridge’s railing. Little My scrambled up onto the top board so that she was closer to the Joxter’s eye level.

     One fur-tipped ear twitched. “It’s bad.” Leaning back on his own railing, the man frowned. “The Lonely Mountains keep some of the moisture trapped here, but on the other side even the rivers have dried up. Food is a little scarce, and the trees have dried up so there’s no shade to nap in.” He seemed rather put out by that last bit. “Has the ocean not brought any rain?”

     “Nothing.” My propped her little paws on her hips. “Stupid clouds never come ashore.”

     Joxter grunted. “Hm, how inconvenient.” Looking to Moomin, the mumrik blinked his icy eyes. “I don’t suppose you could let Moominmamma and Moominpappa know that there will be an extra person for lunch? I’m sure Little My could help as well.”

     Looking at Snufkin, the young troll tilted his head in a soft question. It was clear the Joxter wanted to speak with his son alone, but Snufkin didn’t always get along with his erstwhile father and occasionally would disappear for days if they had an argument. His eyes never leaving the older mumrik, Snufkin’s tail flicked Moomin’s shoulder in reassurance. 

     Stretching and brushing his own tail against the brim of his friend’s hat, Moomin rose to his feet and unceremoniously picked up Little My-- making sure to avoid her waving claws. Nodding to Joxter, he made his way up to the house with the angry mymble held gingerly away from his body as she growled and spat at him. 

 

                                                   **********************

 

      Snufkin watched from the corner of his vision until the moomin was our of earshot with his protesting companion before focusing back on his father, who was nonchalantly washing a paw with his rough tongue. “How bad is it?”

        He paused his washing. “Really bad. Crops are failing outside the valley for lack of water, and creatures are getting desperate. Arguments over dwindling water supplies are starting to become fiercer.”

        “Do you think they’ll come into the valley?”

        “I think they might try.” The Joxter scratched a rail, leaving little clawmarks on the soft wood. “Starving people are desperate people, and desperate people make choices they never would if they were full.” He turned his gaze out to the valley. “There are still crops here, and the stream is running. It could draw unwanted attention to Moominvalley, to say nothing of what will happen when your snowmelt has been used up.”

        Snufkin glanced at the faint patches of white that still dotted the mountaintops in the distance. “We’ve got about another month before that happens, but hopefully it rains before then.”

        “Hopefully indeed. Until that time though I will remain here in the valley.” At his son’s look of surprise he gave a dry chuckle. “The Moomins are my friends, and they are here, and _you_ are here, dear boy, as is your sister. An extra pair of paws might be helpful in an emergency, especially paws as sharp as mine.” Catching sight of the dark tip of his tail moving at the corner of his vision, Joxter whirled and began attempting to catch it, seemingly forgetting about Snufkin as he dashed off into the meadows.

           Snufkin watched him, shoulders easing a little as his father acted like the Joxter he was used to. The seriousness in his father’s tone had taken him off guard. Leaning against one of the bridge posts, the young mumrik sighed with trepidation. He hoped rain would come soon. 

 

                                                     **********************

 

         Moomin greeted the two mumriks when they came padding up to the front porch, the older one brushing bits of grass and leaves off his coat and hat. “Come in, Mama is almost done with lunch!”

          “Oh good. I like lunch.” The Joxter draped himself over an armchair, worn out from tail hunting. 

         The young troll met Snufkin’s gaze questioningly, silently expressing concern at his friend’s frown. The mumrik shook his head, offering a tepid smile. “Everything is alright.” The words were quiet, a gentle reassurance. 

           “Oof!”

        They both turned at the sound to see Little My standing solidly on Joxter’s stomach. “Done talking secrets??” Her nose was turned up even though her eyes were still slightly below his. “Or are you going to have me carted off again?” The mymble’s eyes cut to Moomin “I’ll get you for that later, by the way.”

     “Bury me by the stream.” Moomin gave Snufkin a mournful salute. 

     The mumrik snorted. “She wouldn’t kill you, just maim you a little bit. I’ll be sure to draw flowers all over the cast.”

     “And you can feed me soup and then fuss at me when I try to itch under the plaster.” 

     “I think that would be me doing that.” Snorkmaiden bustled into the room, her tail flicking back and forth. “It’s time for lunch.”

     Extra chairs had been pulled up for Snorkmaiden and Joxter (Sniff was absent, and there was always an additional chair at the table during the warm seasons in case Snufkin decided to call). Moominpappa came trundling down the steps, ink on his paws, and stopped at the sight of their visitor.

     “Joxter? Well I’ll be switched! Haven’t seen you in ages, old friend.” The patriarch of the little house plopped himself down at his usual seat and raised an eyebrow at the mumrik in question. “What brings you to these parts?”

     Joxter’s blue eyes had fixated on the food that Moominmamma was bringing to the table. “Wandering, we can have a good old discussion about it later.”

     “Indeed.” Moominmamma finished bringing the food and they all began loading up their plates. Cold sandwiches of cucumber or peanut butter and jam were served along with a sort of mixed fruit salad, cold water from the stream had been mixed into lemonade, and fresh carrots from the garden were an option for anyone who felt the need to crunch on something.

     “Delicious as always.” Joxter was halfway through a sandwich, holding his food in both paws as if he was afraid to set it down. It was a trait he shared with Snufkin, and Moomin supposed it came from losing food to animals if one wasn’t paying attention while wandering.

     “Why thank you.” The mother troll smiled. “I don’t suppose you know where you’ll be setting up in the valley yet?”

     “Mm I’ve half a mind to sleep up on the station’s roof.” he gave a wicked smile. “Last I was here they didn’t have a long enough ladder to reach it.”

     Moominpappa snorted. “They still haven’t. I had to lend them mine this spring when a branch fell and they needed to get it down from there.” Seeing Joxter’s glance, he continued. “Of course, the ladder seems to have mysteriously broken this summer… so I don’t suppose they’ll be able to borrow it if something were to fall asleep --ehem! I mean… get stuck up there.”

     “It could take all season to find a pole the right size to repair it.” Mamma’s voice was serene. “Such a shame.”

     The elder mumrik turned his attention to the children as Snorkmaiden went into the kitchen. Moomintroll had finished his own food and was now picking bits of cranberry out of the remains of Snufkin’s fruit salad. The Joxter’s mouth hooked up at one corner when his son allowed it to happen but then immediately smacked Little My’s paw away when she reached for his last carrot. 

     “Hey! You let Moomin take stuff!”

     Moomin looked around Snufkin to the small mymble. “That’s because I’m taking the bits he doesn’t like and you’re trying to take something he wants to eat. That’s why he’s saving it for last.”

     My sat grumpily in her chair. “Sure,  _ that’s _ the reason he lets you get away with stuff like that.” the table rattled as her seat jerked, possibly from a Snufkin sized kick, though no one would be able to prove it.

     Snorkmaiden came back into the dining room, holding a plate of cookies that she sat in front of Moomin. “Here, I made these just for you.” Fluttering her eyelashes at him, the young snork sat at her own place. “If you like the recipe I can make them all the time for you when we live together.”

     Moomintroll looked decidedly uncomfortable at this attention as Snufkin reached up to pull down the brim of a hat he didn’t have on (Mamma insisted he take it off at the table). Over the past few seasons Moomin had grown less interested in Snorkmaiden, and had flat out stated that he wasn’t sure he wanted to be together with her anymore, but she was treating it as a sort of phase. She’d been spending time with Moominmama in an effort to learn domestic skills, hoping to entice him back to her with the prospect of a capable mate, but so far he hadn’t seemed very enticed. It was bound to come to a head at some point, but for now no one wanted to rock the boat. Except Little My of course. 

     “Oh, is Snork moving out then?”

     Snorkmaiden wrinkled her snout in confusion. “No, why?”

     “Kitchens don’t fit well in tents.” My remarked innocently. “They’re really only big enough for a moomin and a mu--ack!”

     Snufkin’s father reached over and snatched a cookie off the plate, ignoring the spluttering sound of a mymble spitting out the taste of bristly Joxter tail. “You made these just for me? You shouldn’t have!” Sitting back, he grinned roguishly at Snorkmaiden. “Though I have to say, I don’t think you’d want me living near you at all.” He took a bite of the treat and made a sound of appreciation. “Though if they taste like this I’ll definitely visit.” Looking down, he found to his surprise that the rest of the cookie had vanished from his paws. 

     Brushing crumbs off her face, Little My hopped from her seat and scampered out the door. “Bye then!”

    "She’s getting better at that, didn’t even notice this time.” The man looked mournfully at his empty paws while Snufkin snorted.


	2. Stretch Marks

    Snufkin had overestimated the time they had left before the snowmelt was used up. A week after his prediction there was hardly any white on the mountaintops, and the stream had become narrower; the margin of green that had run through the valley like a colorful ribbon was beginning to resemble yarn instead. Accordingly, the Moomins had stepped up preparations for the inevitable shortage. Stout barrels from the cellar had been brought out, and an entire day was spent using pitch to reseal them; an easy task had it not been for Little My gluing Moominpappa to the porch when he sat down for a rest. Snufkin had helped roll the newly caulked barrels down to the stream so they could be filled with fresh water and then stored away. Fruit from the trees and bushes had been picked and preserved, all except for the early russet apples, which were safe to keep in the cool cellar along with the water supply. With a sigh of regret Moominmamma stopped watering her flowers, which quickly withered under the eye of the blistering sun. 

          Creatures were coming to drink by the creek still, but Moomin would see some of them with claw marks-- evidence of being chased away from a spot farther upstream. Snork and Snorkmaiden were staying with the Moomins for the time being, as their house was far from the water and Snorkmaiden didn’t feel safe with only her brother to defend them in an emergency. The Snork took over the spare room, and Snorkmaiden was elated when Moomin offered to let her use his own room to stay in; the elation curdled that evening when she discovered that to give her space Moomin had elected to sleep outside in Snufkin’s tent, which was set up nearer to the house in order to avoid the foot traffic at the stream. Snufkin had no issue with sharing his tiny domicile, claiming there was a whole yard if he wanted some alone time. There was no sign of Sniff, but then the Joxter mentioned that he’d taken a message to the creature: a request from Sniff’s parents to come and stay with them. 

Having done all the preparation they could do at home, Little My had gone to pick mushrooms while Moomin and Snufkin went in search of herbs to bolster Mamma’s stocks. They were upstream from Moominhouse looking along the water for cattails and burdock, picking any watercress they found along the way for a salad that night at dinner. Moomin carried the basket in one paw, enjoying the simple feeling of walking next to his best friend. He could almost pretend that everything was normal, that the valley was as peaceful as always and this was just a stroll for the pleasure of it rather than a foraging mission. Moomin wanted so badly to take Snufkin’s paw, but he was trying to give the traveller his space-- unwilling to risk sleeping in the tent alone due to an overload of socializing during the day.

     “Are you going to try any fishing?”

     The mumrik glanced at him, “It wouldn’t be very sporting of me, there isn’t a lot of water for them to hide in.” Flicking his tail against the young troll’s muzzle and unaware of the flip flopping it caused in Moomin’s stomach, Snufkin padded ahead. “Besides, this drought will be hard on the population. If I fish it’s going to be from the ocean.”

     Moomin nodded in understanding, stooping to pick a late wild strawberry. “Makes sense. Here!” Offering the fruit to his companion, the troll flushed with pleasure at the smile of thanks he was given. 

     A little further upstream Moomin’s sharp nose led them to a lucky find of Meadowsweet, which they packed immediately into the basket. Moominmamma would be pleased, as the flower could be used for fever or even flu-- a distinct possibility if immune systems were weakened by lack of water. Stopping when they reached the shade of a willow, the two friends sat down for a rest to pass the hottest part of the day, listening to the chirrup of insects in the long grasses. It was only the beginning of July, but it felt like the dog days of August with the heat painting mirages over the horizon. Snufkin went to the water for a drink but froze when an angry voice came floating over the meadow.

     “Hey! Get out of here, you! That’s the property of Moominvalley Police Station!” The old hemulen, formerly the Park Keeper and now an officer, was dashing towards them with a gnarled paw raised. 

     Snufkin stood, his tail bristling slightly. “I beg your pardon?”

     “You again.” the Park Keeper (for the boys could only ever see him as that) narrowed his eyes upon getting a clear view of Snufkin. “I should have known.”

     Moomin stood, walking to stand next to his friend and adding his voice to the mix. “What are you on about?”

     “And you too, no surprise you’re near this hooligan.” The hemulen eyed Moomintroll with some trepidation, as the young troll was about his size now and stronger than him. “This part of the stream is off limits. The water here is for the use of the police department, so clear off!”

     Now Snufkin’s tail was decidedly fluffy, flicking irritably from side to side. “No one owns the stream. That’s ridiculous!”

     “Well now someone owns this bit of it.” The Park Keeper grunted menacingly. Taking a few more steps forward, he stood on the opposite bank and stamped a booted foot down for emphasis near a small hole. “There should be a sign stating that, but apparently you’ve destroyed it just like my signs from the park.” 

     “Hold on, that isn’t fair!” The young troll was indignant. “You have no right to accuse him. He’s been with me the whole day and we never even saw your rotten sign!”

     A snicker wound its way out of the old man’s throat. “Got your boyfriend fighting your battles for you, eh? Can’t speak for yourself?”

     Snufkin’s ears turned decidedly red as Moomin flushed under his white fur. “Listen here, I never touched your sign, but now I wish I’d seen it so I could have ripped it out of the ground myself! It’s pointless to say you own a section of the stream because the water flowing here will be elsewhere within minutes! You can’t keep it locked up.”

     Anger turned the hemulen purple under his patchy white coat, the color clashing horridly with his blue uniform. “I’m the law around here, and what I say goes! This spot is now private property, clear off before I make you clear off!” The officer pulled his truncheon and threatened them, taking a step into the stream and closer to Snufkin. 

     Moomin was appalled at this violent behavior, his anger mixing with worry as he eyed the lead-weighted baton. Swung hard enough, that would break bones. Snufkin was standing defiantly on their side of the stream, refusing to move from the bank. 

     “You’re going to hit an unarmed person?” The mumrik sneered as the Park Keeper walked closer towards him with the baton raised. “Protect and serve seems to have taken on a new meaning.” 

     “I’m going to hit a lawbreaker.”

     “Oh, so it’s a law now is it? Written down in the valley records that this specific section of the stream is now off limits?” The boy’s arms were crossed stubbornly as Moomin started walking forward to intervene.

     “Stop this now!” His white ears were pinned back along his skull as he held a large paw out against the elder’s chest, stopping his progress. “This is terrible behavior for an officer! You ought to be ashamed of yourself!”

     The old hemulen lost his temper. “Keep your paws off of me! Aiding and abetting and now assaulting an officer of the law!” Swinging, he brought the billy club down in a furious arc.

_      Thwack!! _

     Moomintroll opened his eyes when the blow never landed, looking in horror at the slender forearm stretched in front of him. Snufkin hissed in pain as the Park Keeper stumbled back a few steps, seemingly shocked by his own vehemence. Cradling the injured limb against his chest, the mumrik backed up so that he was pushing Moomin away from the stream, back towards their basket. 

     “Come on, Moomin. This brute isn’t worth our time.” 

     Blue eyes wide with distress, the boy wrung his tail nervously. “Snufkin! Oh, Snufkin your arm!”

     The wanderer’s gaze never left the bewildered hemulen. “Pick up the basket, Moomintroll, we’re going home.”

     Doing as he was bidden, the troll in question stayed silent as his friend turned on his heel and began walking downstream, hat tilted low over his face. The walk back to Moominhouse was far more solemn than the walk out; Moomin gripped the basket miserably. _Why_ _oh why did Snufkin have to do that?_ Now the mumrik was hurt, and it was all his fault for touching that stupid Park Keeper. He finished walking home in silence.

     Padding up the porch, Snufkin opened the door for him. “Now, go and tell Mamma that we found her herbs. She’ll be pleased with us, especially with that Meadowsweet you found.” Snufkin smiled reassuringly at him. “I’m going to gather some kindling for our campfire.” Moomin stumbled inside and trudged into the kitchen, setting the basket on the counter next to the sink as he went to sit on the small stool in the corner. Little My was sitting on the floor as Moominmamma checked the mushrooms to make sure all were edible. 

     “Much better this time, Little My. Only half were poisonous!” Mamma set the safe ones in a bowl and gave them to the mymble for slicing. “Moomin, dear! Thank you for going out herb hunting, I see you were successful.”

     “Yes, Mamma.” 

     She turned at his tone. “Whatever is the matter?”

     Tail lashing with frustration, her son curled his paws into fists. “That terrible old hemulen at the police station! We were just resting and he came out and yelled at Snufkin for drinking out of the stream! He said that that part of the water belongs to the police and that it was off limits and when Snufkin and I stood up to him he- he…” Moomin shook with rage, grinding his teeth together. “He swung his club at me and Snufkin moved and he hit Snufkin on the arm, Mamma!”

     Little My dropped her small knife into the bowl of mushrooms mid-slice. “Wait, what?”

     Tears were coursing down Moomin’s cheeks. “He accused Snufkin of stealing his sign and I told him off for it and then he threatened us! T-told us to move or he would make us! Then when Snufkin didn’t move he started crossing the stream and I reached out to try and stop him but when I touched him he yelled at me and went to hit me and- and Snufkin put his arm out to protect me and now he’s hurt and it’s all my fault!!”

     Walking over, Moominmamma enveloped her child in a warm hug, turning to Little My. “Go and fetch Pappa. He needs to hear this.” My rushed out of the room, obeying for once without question.

     There was a clatter as the Joxter, who had been napping on top of the kitchen cabinet, bounded down from his perch and launched himself out the back door. Scenting around for his offspring, he picked up a fresh trail and tracked him to the little bridge. Snufkin was kneeling on the bank, leaning down to immerse his forearm in the cool water. Sprinting to his son, the mumrik skidded to a halt beside him and immediately crouched down, wrapping both arms around the boy and pulling him close, knocking off the green hat so that he could nudge his nose into the lad’s chestnut hair. 

     “Oof! Dad!” Snufkin squirmed in surprise, pushing vainly against the wiry frame of the man who was now making soft chirps and cooes as he nuzzled his child relentlessly. “Dad, I’m ok!”

     Reaching with one paw, the Joxter pulled Snufkin’s injured arm out to look at it; his dark tail was wrapped around his kit’s waist like a safety rope. The flesh was already bruising badly, skin darkening and swelling where the heavy object had impacted it. 

     The man hissed in sympathy. “I’m sorry, son. It was me that took the sign, and it was you who ended up paying for it.”

     “I know it was you, and honestly I’m only mad that you found it first.” In a rare sign of affection Snufkin allowed himself to lean back into his father’s embrace, taking the comfort being offered. 

     “That’s my boy.” Joxter stayed still so as to not cause the boy to move, but didn’t hide the pride in his voice. There was a brief moment of silence before he spoke again. “Moomintroll is very upset.”

     A low growl of anger forced its way out of the young mumrik’s chest, startling the older traveller. “That’s the other thing I’m angry about. That- that  _ monster _ was going to hit him! Moomin has never hurt a fly! All he did was hold out one paw to stop that hemulen from getting closer and he was going to get beaten for it!”

     “People are starting to get scared now that the water is dropping. In the coming weeks the people here will know who among them is weak of heart.” Joxter frowned into his son’s hair. “Tensions are going to run higher… on another note, when were you going to tell me you were in love with Moomintroll?” 

_      “Dad!” _

     The mumrik released his child, laughing at the look of indignation and embarrassment he was being given. “Did you think I wouldn’t notice? I’m lazy, son. Not blind.”

     Scuffing a boot in the dirt, Snufkin grumbled. “If you say anything I’ll set Little My on you.”

     “My lips are sealed.” Clearing his throat, Joxter blinked at his son. “He really was upset though, I think he’s blaming himself.”

     “I know he is.” Snufkin sighed. “I’ll talk to him tonight.”

 

                                                                                                   *********************************

 

      Dinner had been a somewhat serious affair, with Pappa and Joxter exchanging glances over their plates that spoke volumes to one another. Mamma sent the children out onto the porch to eat, allowing the adults to converse in private (along with Snork, who insisted he was grown up). Sitting outside, things were subdued; everyone picked at their food and kept their backs to the house, leaning close to one another in a silent gesture of solidarity. Snufkin was silent, his forearm wrapped with a poultice from the old book that Mamma kept for ailments; he only spoke once to decline Little My’s offer of stabbing the Park Keeper with a butter knife. 

     After the plates were put away and the fire died down, Moomin and Snufkin retired to the tent and lay on their sleeping mats staring at the roof with the lantern burning low.

     Moomin could take the silence no longer. “Snufkin, I’m so-”

     “Don’t. Don’t apologize for that man’s behavior.” 

     The troll rolled over to face his friend. “But I-”

     “Did you swing that club?” Snufkin turned to meet his gaze, brown eyes serious.

     “Well...no...but you got hurt because of me.” Moomin’s own eyes were burning. “If I hadn’t touched him he never would have swung to begin with.”

     The mumrik’s features softened, his voice low like he didn’t mean for anyone to hear it. “I would take a thousand blows before I let someone hit you, dear Moomintroll.”

     The rush of warmth and affection that rushed through Moomin caused his tears to spill over, and he buried his snout in his paws, curling into a ball on his sleeping mat. “I don’t want to see you hurt. I don’t want to ever see it, and especially not on my account. I’ve never seen anyone angry like that before.” His white ears fluttered in distress. “The water isn’t even gone yet, Snufkin. When it’s all gone is this going to get worse? How far will it go before it ends?”

     Warm arms enveloped him and the troll blinked blurry eyes as his friend settled around him, moving so that his face was up against a narrow chest. “Oh, Moomin. The world made a gentle heart when it made you.” A thrumming purr started up next to his ear, soothing him as it rose and fell with Snufkin’s breathing like waves upon the shore. The lantern was turned off, light disappearing from behind his closed eyelids. He began to drift off, unsure of whether he was awake or asleep as a low whisper fluttered into the dark. “My own heart might be damaged and battered beyond repair, but it will stop beating before I allow anything to happen to you, my dove.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Welp, here we go, everyone. Stuff is starting to kick off ever so slightly. Boy howdy though we are nowhere near through it.


	3. The Snap

     Four days later and the stream was only a collection of stagnant puddles sitting forlornly like the scraps of a once magnificent tapestry. It was no longer safe to drink from for the Moomins and their friends, though animals came to lap desperately at the life-giving liquid. The first of the barrels in the cellar was tapped, and they all sat around the table that morning looking quietly into their cups; they were limiting themselves to four full glasses a day each. 

     Joxter rested his head on his paws, blinking narrowed eyes at the group. “If no one else will say it, I will. We need to decide what to do.”

     “What do you mean? This  _ is  _ what we decided to do.” Snorkmaiden sipped her water daintily, savoring it. “We ration the water.”

     The Snork went for it all in one go, wiping his muzzle with a napkin. “Not what he means.”

     “A contingency plan.” Little My had a slightly smaller cup owing to her stature, and she now stood on the table next to it. “What happens if it doesn’t rain before the water runs out.”

     Moomin’s ears flattened slightly. “Surely it will rain before that! We have a dozen barrels down there counting the one we opened this morning!”

     Silence for a moment, then Moominpappa spoke up. “We will hope for that, son; however, we need to have a plan in place just in case it doesn’t. We don’t want to get to the bottom of the last barrel and then be stuck scratching our heads.” Looking to his old friend, the patriarch leaned one elbow on the table. “I say, do you remember that time we got stuck out on an island? The natives there had devised a way to make fresh water from the ocean.”

     “Is that even possible?” Snorkmaiden looked dubious.

     “Of course it is! He just said they did it!” My impatiently banged the handle of a spoon she was holding against her plate. 

     The female snork flushed angrily. “It was a long time ago, how do we know th--”

     “Children, enough.” 

     Both combatants looked to Moominmamma, who was quietly stitching up a rip in an old dishrag; something in her gaze said that she would brook no argument, so the brief verbal spar ended.

     “I think I wrote it down in one of my journals….” Pappa tapped his hat thoughtfully. “Joxter, perhaps you could help me look for it up in the study later?”

     The mumrik sighed. “That sounds a great deal like work.”

     “You can always help me clean the kitchen, there are some pots and pans that need a good scouring today.”

     “The more sets of eyes looking, the faster we can find the right journal!” The man straightened up slightly, leaning away from Mamma. 

     Snufkin shared a wry grin with Moomin, who had stuffed both paws into his mouth to keep from laughing at the Joxter’s sudden ‘go getter’ attitude. Snork wasn’t so subtle, chuckling as he reached for his cup only to remember that it was empty.

     “Ah, Snork. So kind of you to speak up!” Moominmamma beamed at the youth. “I was needing a strong pair of paws to help with those dishes!” She studiously ignored his woebegone expression as Little My ducked under the table to roll on the floor in silent hysterics, unwilling to be caught and mistaken for another ‘volunteer’. 

     Joxter rejoined the conversation now that the danger of being drafted had passed. “That’s half the plan then. Now the other half.”

     “What other half?” The small mymble popped her head back above the table. 

     Surprisingly it was Snufkin who spoke, his tone subdued. “What we do if someone comes here.”

     “People come here all the time!” Snorkmaiden exchanged uncertain looks with Moomin, who had begun twisting his tail in apprehension.

     “Yes. They do.” Snufkin agreed. “And you help them, because that’s who you are.”

     Joxter finished the thought for his son, who seemed unwilling to go farther. “Now things are different though. Resources are scarce, and that can bring out the worst in people--as we’ve seen already.” 

     His kit hid the bruised arm alluded to under the table, looking away under his hat when Moomin brushed a paw along his shoulder reassuringly. 

     “People will come here asking for water, or food.” The older mumrik continued. “Some of them will actually need it, some of them won’t. We have to decide whether or not to give aid to those coming here, keeping in mind that if you help one, others will come like vultures to a kill.” When Snorkmaiden turned a peculiar color of green he amended his simile. “Er…. like bees to a hive, I meant.”

     Moominpappa frowned, sipping from his own cup. “That is the problem, isn’t it. What if we take it case by case?”

     “How would we know?” Little my picked at the remains of her breakfast, pushing crusts of toast around on her plate. “There’s no real way to tell if someone is lying or not.”

     “A tough decision.” Pappa muttered. 

     A clack made them all look up as Mamma set her sewing down on the table. Rising, she leaned forward to see them all more clearly. “It is a terrible decision to make, but I will make it here and now.” The matriarch’s eyes were bright with unshed tears, but determination burned in their depths. “I will help people who need helping when I can, but I will always put my family first. My priority is to take care of those under my roof, which is all of you. Everyone in this valley has had ample warning of the drought, and we’ve told others about keeping water from the stream in case rain didn’t come. I may regret not giving someone water if they need it, but I could not live with myself if I gave away that water and one of you were to die as a result. Knowing those in this family, if one of us gives up water to help someone, everyone else will give up water to make up for the shortage, and we all suffer as a result. We do not help, but if we find the way to make drinking water from the ocean we will share it with everyone we can reach.”

     There was a hush around the table. 

     “I agree.” The Joxter stood and stretched languidly. “Pappa, let’s go look for those papers.”

     Snorkmaiden looked to Moomin. “What are you going to do today?” 

     Moomin turned to Snufkin. “What are we doing today?”

     “It’s like a blasted echo in here.” Little My rolled her eyes as Snork began to help Mamma clear the table. 

     “With the stream the way it is, we’re going to collect any live fish in those pools for dinner. They’ll suffocate otherwise, and I suspect a lot of animals have already taken some.” Sliding from his chair, Snufkin drank the last of his water for the morning. As an afterthought he turned to Snorkmaiden. “Fair warning, we’re going to need to sift through the water with our paws, and there are sure to be dead fish in there.”

     “I think I’ll keep my poor brother company.” 

     My gave her brother an unimpressed glance as the female walked away from them. “Subtle.”

     “I’ll tell Mamma you wanted to help her, dear sister.” 

     “Last one out has to hold the bucket!” The mymble was already halfway out the door.

 

                                                     *************************************************************

 

     There were indeed dead fish in the puddles, though thankfully most of them were visible as they had floated to the surface. Little My used a stick to push them out of the way so that Snufkin and Moomin could reach in to try and catch the remaining live ones, hiding in the deepest parts like children trying to chase the shade of clouds to stay cool. Animals that saw them coming would back away from the children, waiting until they had left to eat the now displaced carcasses or lap at the stagnant water. When the ‘off limits’ section of the stream hove into view the three friends cut off into the forest, Moomin tying the bucket up in a birch near the streambank so that their fish were safe. They decided to hunt for any berries or fruits that had escaped the notice of local animals while enjoying the shelter from the cloudless sky. 

     Sunlight dappled the ground under the pines they walked past, turning the forest floor into a mosaic of light and dark that moved with the light breeze which was trying to make a cooling impression on the valley. Leaf loam and dead needles were brittle under their feet, crackling as they walked and rustling with the occasional movement of a creep or other small animal near the soil. Little My poked her head into the deep thickets, hoping to see something useful where the larger animals couldn’t reach, but was disappointed at every turn. 

     Peeking into one such hollow the mymble let out a yelp of surprise and pulled back; Moomin and Snufkin were instantly at her side, crouching to get a better view. A small skeleton sat in the entrance to a little hole dug in the center of the brush, the bones keeping a silent vigil over the tiny abode. 

     “Oh how awful.” Moomin put a paw over his mouth, looking away. 

     “Awful? It’s just a dead ground squirrel.” My crossed her arms and stared up at the young troll. 

     Shaking his head, Snufkin gently pushed earth over the remains, blocking up the hole and laying a twig down over it. “There are more in there.” He stood and pulled his friends along, away from the grave. “That was a den. She refused to leave her babies even to get water, and they all died.” 

     “What about her mate?”

     The mumrik regarded the young troll sadly. “It probably went for water but never came back. A predator perhaps.” 

    "I suppose being a mother must be a powerful thing, to die because you can’t stop protecting your young.” Moomin kicked a stone with his foot, sending it flying into the pine needles. 

     “Love is a powerful thing, no matter what kind of love it is, good or bad.”

     My rolled her eyes. “Well I would  _ love _ to get off this topic of conversation. This is supposed to be a fun walk, not a funeral procession.” Cutting her eyes to her brother she muttered. “Or a confession.”

     “Keep talking and it’s going to be  _ your _ funeral procession.” Snufkin whacked the back of her head with his tail, much to Moomin’s confusion. 

     “Oh hey, Moomin, my brother wants to tell you someth--!” She cut and ran, scampering off as the mumrik shot forward in hot pursuit. “Nyah nyah! Too slow!”

     Moomintroll broke into a run to follow them, watching as the siblings cavorted around trees and shrubs in a high-stakes game of tag. He almost managed to corner the little mymble with Snufkin’s help, but she shot between his legs at the last moment, leading them up the slope until they all called truce. 

     “What were you wanting to tell me?” The white troll sat, winded.

     Laying down on the cool earth the mumrik tilted his hat down over his face. “That it’s time for a nap.”

     Nodding agreement, Moomin stretched out and enjoyed the peace and quiet, broken only by a whisper from Little My.

     “Wuss.”

 

                                                                                         *********************************************

 

     Something woke Snufkin from his slumber; nott much time had passed, only an hour or two since they had stopped for a rest. A wind was stirring the treetops-- though he couldn’t feel it being in the lee of the slope, and the mumrik stared up at them thoughtfully, enjoying the sound the dry leaves made as they were rattled. It sounded almost like the crash of waves against the ocean, ebbing and flowing, though it seemed to be increasing in volume slightly. Sitting up, the mumrik looked around cautiously. Some instinct was nagging at him, causing the hair on the nape of his neck to prickle and his tail to fluff up; there was something wrong. Swiveling his head around this way and that, the traveller stretched his senses to the limit, trying to place the unnamed threat. The roaring of the wind was getting louder, sounding like a living beast shrieking its fury. Snufkin looked up, surprised that leaves weren’t falling until he noticed that they were hardly stirring on their branches. There was no wind. 

     Moomin and Little My were brought into sudden wakefulness by the cries of their friend.

     “Fire! The forest is burning!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter was a bit shorter, but that's because the next chapter is going to be a whole lot longer XD


	4. Racing the Flames

       Chaos.

          Moomin lurched to his feet, blinking sleep from his eyes and watching as his surroundings swam into view. Little My was rubbing her own eyes vigorously, reaching out to bat her brother away as he circled her anxiously; Snufkin, for his part, was looking uphill with an expression of fear stamped across his delicate features. Following his gaze the young troll looked up and gasped, the fur on his spine rising as dread pooled in his gut. A great light was approaching them, casting eerie shadows when the sky suddenly went dark with acrid smoke; cresting the hill were tongues of flame, licking out and tasting the dry foliage before reaching forward to consume them. The fire roared like an unholy beast, crackling threats and belching fumes into the air as moisture hidden in tree trunks whistled out like steam from a boiling kettle. Little creeps and small animals fled right over the friends’ very feet, eyes wide in terror as they ran from the blaze.

         Little My and Moomin stood frozen in horror, watching the furious inferno lurching towards them at an alarming rate. Everything seemed distant and far away, sounds echoing oddly behind the rush of blood through their ears.

         “Move!” Snufkin placed a foot against his sister’s back and kicked her forward, galvanizing the mymble into motion. Rushing over, the mumrik shoved hard at his friend’s back. “Go! Run!”

         The spell that had held him captive broke and Moomin took off into a sprint, following My downhill with Snufkin racing at his side. Behind them the fire shrieked its fury and advanced, obliterating underbrush and gorging on dry pine needles as it sought to overtake its prey. Wind tore at their backs, generated by the voracious consumption of oxygen and subsequent heat the blaze produced; it sent smoke rolling ahead of the trio, shrouding the forest in a haze of noxious gas. The dry forest was an accelerant, stoking the ever-growing appetite of their pursuer and sending embers and sparks into the air like confetti at some hellish parade. The heat was searing against their backs as they ran, tripping and trying to avoid running into obstacles made obscure by the billowing smog.

         “What do we do?” His voice was nearly lost under the roar as Moomin glanced frantically at Snufkin. Little My, who had placed herself between the two of them, looked up as well; she knew her brother had the best chance of keeping them alive. 

        The mumrik coughed, holding his hat steady with one paw. “Keep going to the stream!”

        “It’s dry, Snufkin!” Little My was gasping as they ran. 

        “There’s nothing growing in it! It’ll act as a firebreak!”

      Moomin nodded, pushing himself to run faster as the heat at their backs intensified. Heedless of stones or roots they careened down the hill, doing everything possible to stay upright in their mad dash for safety. A deer overtook them, hindquarters dotted with glowing fragments of wood and trailing a terrible smell of burning fur. With horror they saw flames creeping up to their right, jumping from tree to tree faster than any squirrel could and spreading down the trunks and up to the leaves as branches fell with sounds like thunderclaps. If it got ahead of them they would be trapped.

      Several things happened in quick succession. An unseen log tripped Little My, sending her cartwheeling to a stop with a yelp of pain and fear as the fire continued its merciless advance. Skidding to a halt, Snufkin pivoted and slid, falling to all fours facing back towards the blaze. With a glance at Moomin, who was coming to a stop as well, the mumrik didn’t even bother getting back up before tearing up the hill to his sister on all fours. Speechless with terror, the troll watched as his friend blew straight past her, his hat knocked off as a gust of blistering air swept past. Using all four limbs for purchase, the traveller turned a sharp one-eighty and made a beeline for Little My, bending his head down and gripping the back collar of her dress in his teeth as he scooped her up off the ground without slowing a beat. 

      Tail streaming out behind him like a banner, Snufkin drew level with Moomin, who started charging forward again.  “Go! Keep running!” The words were muffled through fabric as the boy continued to bound on all fours, wincing as embers scorched his front paws when they contacted the ground. Little My hung from his jaws with eyes wide as saucers, her legs tucked up and her little paws clutching her brother’s hat--snatched when she was picked up. 

      The deer that had passed them was lying off to one side, bawling as it struggled to rise with one spindly leg at a clearly abnormal angle. It must have run into something. Moomin hadn’t realized he was slowing until a mumrik tail swatted at his side.

      “Don’t stop! There’s nothing we can do!” 

      Breath sobbing in his lungs, Moomintroll did his best to block out the animal’s bleats of terror. They were soon lost to the fire’s all encompassing sound, reminding the young troll of what would happen should he pause for anything. A jagged cedar twig scraped the boy’s cheek, ripping out a line of white fur before snapping from the force of impact as he sprinted past; another gouged him just behind his left ear when he turned to check on Snufkin and My. She was still hanging from the mumrik’s teeth, bumping against his chest with every stride; because his arms were shorter than his legs, her brother had to keep his head slightly bent, ignoring the pain of underbrush whipping through his hair and over his scalp. 

      Moomin let out a wordless cry when the treeline hove into view, pushing his exhausted body onward as he was rewarded by a tiny breath of clean air. The fire was crowning around them, racing to try and cut them off before they cleared the pines but it was too slow, roaring behind them as the trio broke away onto the meadows. Clean air was pushing towards them, sweeping down from the mountains on the opposite side of the valley to slow the progress of the mighty blaze, which was starting to spread into the dried grasses. Not pausing for a moment the three friends pounded across the dry streambed like they were breaking the tape at the finish line of a race, staggering as far as they could before exhaustion caught up with them.

      Stumbling to a halt, Moomintroll bent over and was ill into a clump of sedge; his body had been pushed far beyond its limits. Snufkin carefully set Little My down on the cool earth and flopped over onto his side, flanks heaving as he sucked in huge gulps of smoke-free air. Eyes streaming and body shaking, the young troll unsteadily made his way over to the mumrik and collapsed at his side, curling into a ball and shivering. Warmth wrapped around him accompanied by a raspy purr, broken by coughing as his friend tried to clear soot from his lungs; a rough tongue began to clean the bleeding wound behind his ear. Little My crawled up next to the two of them, her nimble paws pulling leaves and debris from their fur and hair. No words were spoken, they were operating solely on instinct as their brains tried to process what had just occurred. Across the dry stream the fire continued to snarl its fury, cheated of its prey. 

      Thankfully, as Snufkin had predicted, the streambed acted as a barrier to the blaze. The forest continued to burn, trees falling and sending fireworks of sparks up into the air as the last few animals made their way to safety. Burns were much in evidence as was the smell of scorched hair and feathers. Some of the little creeps and critters snuck up to the three friends, drawn as ever to Snufkin who didn’t even spare them a glance. The mumrik was busy cleaning the scrape along Moomin’s cheek, eyes half closed in exhaustion as he made sure the wound had stopped bleeding. Normally this behavior— so far from Snufkin’s usual aloofness— would have sent the young troll into a flustered tizzy, but now he could only feel gratitude and comfort. Having finished his task the wanderer sniffed over Little My, pulling back when she snapped at him.

      “I can clean my own scrapes.” Her voice was clumsy. “Worry about yourself, you idiot.” The mymble could see her brother’s pupils were slitted. Mumriks were much more feral than mymbles as a rule, but this was the first time she had seen him fully caught up in his wilder nature. He laid his head on the ground, eyes closing as the adrenaline ebbed from his system. 

      Catching sight of a figure in the distance, My shakily got to her feet. “Oh no. Come on, can’t we catch a break?” The girl moved to stand in front of the two exhausted boys, arms akimbo.

      “What have you done?? What have you awful, horrible children done?” The hemulen was waving both paws in the air as he shrieked. “This is arson! This is a felony! This is-”

      “Not our fault.” Little My cut him off. “We don’t know what started that fire, but we almost died in it so shut your trap, you miserable old goat.”

      The ‘old goat’ in question didn’t even have his uniform on, having been caught literally napping when the roar of the blaze woke him. Still, he was much bigger than the mymble. “The whole forest is on fire, you three come tumbling out of it, and you expect me to believe you had nothing to do with this?” He approached. “You? The ones who set my signs on fire? You’ve already committed arson once!”

      All of them were shocked when Moomin raised his head, ears pinned flat against his skull; a low rumble of warning made its way out of his broad chest, loud enough that My could feel the vibrations under her feet. Alerted by the noise, Snufkin feebly raised his own head, his eyes fluttering as he tried to wake up. “Mnh?”

      The young troll half sat up and moved a paw, leaning over to place it on the ground between his friend and the perplexed Park Keeper. The other paw reached out and snagged Little My, pulling the mymble back into the safety of the group. Tail swishing in agitation, the hemulen reached for a weapon he didn’t have, cursing himself for taking off his uniform for a siesta; seeing the movement, Moomintroll let out another rumble. His weary brain couldn’t process much, but if there was one thing he knew it was that this man wasn’t going to hurt his friends again. 

      “Moomin? Oh Moomin!!” Another shout ended the standoff as Snorkmaiden came barrelling over the grass towards her friends, worry stamped across her features. Behind her were Moomin’s parents and the Joxter. She skidded to a halt about ten paces away, looking back and forth between the Park Keeper and the three ragged friends. As the youth let out another rumble, the maid was carefully pulled back by Moominpappa.

      “Easy now.” His voice was gentle. 

      Moominmamma, for her part, was slowly approaching her child with hands outstretched. Seeing his tail lashing she let out a crooning hum-- a sound that seemed to lull everyone into silence, even the Park Keeper. Pappa watched her with surprise; he hadn’t heard her make that sound since their son was in his cradle.

      Slowly Moomin’s ears pricked forward, eyes clearing until he shook his head and blinked. “Mamma?” His face crumpled as she rushed to him, enveloping him in one of her warmest hugs. The young troll buried his face in her soft fur, shoulders shaking as he cried. 

      Now that the threat of an angry Moomintroll had passed, Joxter approached the bedraggled group and quickly checked Little My for injury before setting her up on his shoulders, where she promptly rested her head on his pointed hat. Leaning down, he pulled his kit into a sitting position. “Snufkin?”

      “Dad?” 

      My was relieved to see her brother’s pupils had widened back to their normal state. She waved at him. “Little My. How do you do?” She was rewarded when the young mumrik smiled. 

      “What on earth were you doing?” Joxter was taking a look at his offspring’s front paws, noting the abrasions and cuts across the calloused palms. 

      “Running for my life.” Snufkin’s voice was wry.

      “Now hold on here!” An indignant voice broke in. “Those three are suspected of arson!”

      Moominpappa turned to the hemulen and stepped right up against him, eyes boring into the old man’s. “I say, haven’t you got anything better to do than harass traumatized children? Other people might need help after this fire, so go help them!”

      The Park Keeper blustered, intimidated by the moomin’s size. “But- but the fire… and they…”

      Pappa puffed his chest out, sending the man back a step. “Get out of here and go do something useful. These three would never start an irresponsible fire like that.” Deciding discretion was the better part of valor, the hemulen backed away and spun on his heel. They could hear him grumbling all the way back towards the station. Moominpappa snorted with derision before turning back to his motley family. “Come now, we should all be getting home and away from this smoke. The fire will burn itself out against the stream and mountains. 

      Snorkmaiden rushed forward to let Moomin lean on her for support as Joxter lifted his kit from the ground. Frowning, the elder mumrik followed at the rear of the procession as he eyed the flames snapping at them across the bank. Why was it that his boy always felt so light? Perhaps it was his mymble heritage. Little My was nearly weightless on his shoulders, Snufkin’s hat still safe in her paws. From the looks of it his son had been running down on all fours, something he hadn’t seen since the boy was three years old. The man resolved to winkle out the tale later; his icy gaze moved up to his best friend’s own son. Joxter hadn’t heard a moomin threat call since his young adventuring days but the low, booming growl that had resonated through his sensitive ears couldn’t have been anything else. The last time he’d been exposed to that sound had been when Pappa was defending Moominmamma from some raiders near the coast. 

      “I can practically hear you thinking.” My muttered into his ear, startling the vagabond. 

      “Has Moomintroll ever made that sound before?”

      She spared a glance at the young troll. “Never. I didn’t even know he could make a sound like that.”

      He tapped his tail against one leg pensively as he walked. “Interesting.”

      “Before you ask me, the answer is yes.” Standing on the Joxter’s shoulders, she leaned forward and pulled up the brim of his hat until she was staring him in the eyes. “Moomin’s been head over heels for ages now.” Looking down at her sleeping brother she sighed. “How two people can be so smart and so stupid at the same time never fails to amaze me.”

      “Love can make idiots of anyone.” Joxter shook his head fondly. “Now the real question becomes: does Snorkmaiden understand exactly what just happened?”

      “I think you mean does  _ Moomin _ understand exactly what just happened?”

      “Ah, right.” Wincing, the man chuckled despairingly. “Well this is turning out to be a right mess, isn’t it. I don’t suppose the lad knows anything about courting behavior, does he?”

      “I doubt it, but I’m sure they’ll figure it out eventually. They usually do.” Moominmamma had dropped back to walk with them. “I might have to chat with Snorkmaiden though before too long. I can guarantee she knows nothing about any of this; Snork would kiss Stinky before he would have that kind of conversation with his sister.”

      The image that conjured started My laughing so hard she nearly fell off the Joxter’s shoulders, grabbing two pawfuls of his hair to keep upright as he whined in protest. Looking back at the commotion, Moomin slowed his pace a little so that he could join the talk. Snorkmaiden humored him good-naturedly.

      “Is he ok?” The young troll tipped his snout towards his unconscious friend. 

      Joxter smiled fondly at the boy. “He’s just exhausted.”

      “After we clean those injuries it’ll be dinner and off to bed with the three of you.” Mamma eyed her charges as they neared the house.

      “Snufkin cleaned mine for me.” Moomintroll answered without thinking, stumbling over his own feet as they started up the incline to the porch. 

      There was a very strange snorting sound as the elder mumrik tried to contain laughter; schooling his features to mild interest took a moment after that. “Ahah--ehem! Did he? Well that was thoughtful of him.”

      Mamma smiled but made no comment.

 

                                                                    *************************************************************

 

      A pitcher of water from the barrel was sacrificed for cleaning up the three intrepid explorers, washing soot from skin and fur and cleaning the many cuts on Snufkin’s scalp acquired from bulling headlong through brush. The young mumrik sat through the pain in silence, tail twitching with each fresh sting. There were roasted potatoes and green beans for dinner with modest oven farls, though My fell asleep nearly on her plate halfway through and was carried up to bed by Moominpappa. The boys weren’t far behind her, staggering out the door like drunken men and leaning on one another as they fled to the quiet safety of the tent. 

      Snufkin didn’t even bother to take off his boots before falling onto his sleeping mat with a groan, murmuring thanks when he felt the shoes being tugged away from aching feet by willing paws. Turning over slightly, the boy watched as his friend sat down beside him, blue eyes worried.

      “You’re ok, right?”

      A drowsy smile. “M’fine, Moomin. You?”

      “I think I need to take a bath in the ocean tomorrow.” The troll looked sadly at his stained fur-- a pitcher of water could only go so far after all. “That...that was the most afraid I think I’ve ever been in my life, Snufkin.”

      “Me too.” The mumrik tilted his head down to hide under his wide hat brim. “I-- for a second there, I mean-- I wasn’t sure…” His brown eyes were unfocused as the boy fought to stay awake. “Alm’st… you and My… never ‘gain.”

      Moomintroll blinked as he put the words together. “I know, but you didn’t lose us. We all made it, Snufkin. Snufkin?”

      No answer, his friend had fallen asleep. Sighing, Moomin tugged the blanket up and spread it over the mumrik’s narrow shoulders, removing the green hat from Snufkin’s head carefully and setting it to one side. He laid down in his own sleeping mat, trying to get comfortable, one paw reaching out until it brushed the rough fabric of his best friend’s sleeve. 

      Perfect.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ah this was fun to write, but we're not done yet!


	5. New Growth

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, first off, holy wow! I'm so pleased to see that people are enjoying this story. I love the analysis you all give me, and it's fun to see what you think of my narrative and behavior writing. I'm not sure how many more chapters this fic will have, as it sort of has a mind of its own. At least three more I would guess, but it remains to be seen.

     Waking with a start, Snufkin’s eyes flew open to see the early morning light filtering in through the canvas of his tent. A subconscious thought had woken him, but now it slipped away as he realized he was tucked into warm fur; Moomin’s breath was gently tickling his forehead, sending his hair waving in the peaceful puffs of air. A quick glance around told him that he wasn’t on his own side of the tent, which meant that during the night at some point he had migrated over to his friend. Strangely the mumrik didn’t feel claustrophobic or caged at the contact, only warm and safe. 

_      What am I going to do? _ He was in love with his best friend, and had been for seasons now. Only his father and maybe Little My knew that his behavior towards the young troll was bordering on that of mates with the washing of cuts and brushing of tail and shoulders. Worse, Moomin seemed to have no issue with the interaction, even mimicking him on occasion with the soft brush of his tail against Snufkin’s hat. His friend had no idea what he was doing, that interactions like that drove him up a wall internally; honestly he felt like a masochist at this point. He didn’t dare explain to Moomintroll because if he did then the behavior would stop. No more casual leaning against one another, no slow blinks, no more soft paws against his arm to get his attention. It sent a knife through his gut when Moomin did things like that without thinking, but the idea of living without those small gestures was even worse. And now they’d been sleeping in the same tent, and he had a vague impression that yesterday a very un-Moominlike sound had been near when they were safe on the far side of the stream. His dad had mentioned something about the Park Keeper….

_      The park. _

     Moomintroll startled awake when the mumrik sat bolt upright amid the covers, blinking his eyes to see the young traveller nearly as white as his own fur. The boy was still as a statue, brown eyes staring somewhere into the middle distance. Immediately he was up, tail swishing with worry as he shook his friend’s shoulder to snap him out of whatever stupor he was in. “Snufkin? Snufkin, what is it?”

     Tremors started up the mumrik’s spine, sending the troll’s fur up in a line of prickling unease as he managed to gasp out hoarsely. “The park.”

     “The park?” Moomin frowned, kneeling in front of his friend and putting his paws on the narrow shoulders to steady them. “Snufkin, what do you mean? Do you mean the park up in the forest?”

     Snufkin nodded mutely. 

     “It’s probably burned now, with the rest of the trees….” Realization felt like a literal punch to the gut. “Oh no… oh, Snufkin.”

     Staggering to his feet, the mumrik lurched towards the tent flap like his legs weren’t working correctly. Moomin stood behind him, moving to unzip the tent when his friend’s paws proved to be shaking too badly. They spilled out onto the grass, the troll springing up and then kneeling back down to take the mumrik’s face in both paws. “Snufkin, I’m going to go inside and get our water for the morning in a canteen; then I will come back outside. Will you wait for me?”

     Unfocused eyes sharpened for just a moment as the boy nodded. “Hurry.” His whisper sounded like glass breaking.

     Moomintroll rushed into the house, sprinting up the steps to his father’s study to grab the old canteen that sat on one of the shelves near the door. It was an old, battered thing, but it still worked and right now that was all that mattered. His next port of call was the kitchen, where two dippers of water were carefully measured out from the pot on the stove and added to the small vessel. There was no time to leave a note; he wasn’t confident that Snufkin could wait that long. The traveller had regained his feet by the time the young troll came bursting out of the house. Wordlessly he started walking towards the dry stream, picking up speed as he went until the boy was sprinting flat out over the grass. Moomin was hard pressed to keep up with him, the canteen jolting painfully against his hip as they both headed for the site of yesterday’s disaster. 

     Their passage was noted by Mrs. Fillyjonk, who was down in the streambed with her children; they were digging with spades and their own paws. The ground was wet under where the water used to be, having been soaked for years and untouched by the sun; she had found yesterday that if they dug far enough a small puddle that they could drink from would form as moisture soaked into the open. As the two boys passed close to her small family she hissed viciously, warning them away from her precious supply. The warning went completely unnoticed. 

     As the ruined vestiges of what had been a beautiful forest came into focus Snufkin tripped over an errant rock and went sprawling to the ground. Before he could rise Moomin was next to him, pinning the mumrik down as they both panted. 

     “Moomin. L’mme go.” 

     “No. Not until you sit for just a minute.” The troll kept a firm paw gripping the other boy’s sleeve as he helped his friend sit up. 

     Snufkin gave a whining sound of protest, tugging towards the dead zone even as his lungs screamed for oxygen.

     “Snufkin.” Moomintroll’s voice was commanding. “Listen to me. You haven’t had anything to drink since last night, you were dead on your feet yesterday, and now you’re dashing across the fields. Ten minutes won’t change anything up there, but it could keep you from collapsing here, understand?”

     Reason seeped into the mumrik’s gaze, dispelling the fog that had taken over previously. He stopped tugging. “You… you’re right, Moomin. I’m sorry… you haven’t had anything to drink either, have you?”

     The young troll gave a tiny sigh of relief to see Snufkin returning to his senses slightly. “Not yet, but I have this canteen. Let’s have a little water and catch our breath for a moment. Then we can keep going.” Unscrewing the lid to the flask, Moomin took a few gulps of the cool liquid before handing it over to his friend. There was silence but for the gradual slowing of breathing and the occasional cough as their lungs reminded them how much soot had been inhaled the day before.

     “Alright. Ready now?” 

     The pace was slower, a brisk walk as the blackened ground drew ever closer. Moomin had never seen anything like it, had never witnessed such a scene of destruction in his short life. Charred skeletons of trees poked out of the ground like drowning men trying to claw their way out of the ocean, here and there showing a pale hint of wood where one fell in the night after the fire had stopped. The ground under their feet turned into ashy dust, feeling almost like coarse sand. What once was verdant now was just varying shades of gray and black, nary a leaf on a tree; the blaze’s hunger had been all-consuming. Things were eerily quiet, prompting them to speak in whispers as they carefully navigated the blackened ground. 

     “Where was it?”

Snufkin gestured closer to the foothills. “Up a little, another hour I think.” After that he went silent and only grew grimmer and grimmer as their destination approached.

     Topping a small rise, they looked down on what had first been the park, and then an open space for the enjoyment of all. There was nothing. All that remained was the twisted metal from what had once been a slide for children to play on, warped and melted from the heat into some kind of hellish sculpture. Swallowing harshly, Snufkin looked over to the right where, a small distance away, appeared to be the remnants of a cottage’s stone foundation. Together the mumrik and the troll walked down the hill, stopping before they got too close.

     “Moomin, can you do something for me?” 

     He flinched at the flatness in his friend’s voice. “Yes?”

     “Wait for me in the park.” The brown eyes were distant again. 

     “Bu--”

     “Please.” 

     Hesitating, Moomintroll nodded and walked slowly away from his friend, ears back with worry. He stood by the ruined slide, fiddling anxiously with his tail as minutes passed like hours. He shouldn’t have left Snufkin by himself, he should have insisted on staying. He was a terrible friend. He--

     Footsteps. Moomin looked up to see the mumrik approaching slowly, chocolate eyes red rimmed and pale face stained by soot and tears. 

     “Snufkin?”

     The boy fell to his knees in front of the young troll, heedless of the ash that marred his pants. “Moomin, they… they’re all gone.” He tilted his face up like a lost child looking for help. “T-they…” He trailed off as warm arms pulled him close in a tight hug, sitting numbly for a moment as the wind blew soot into fanciful patterns around them.

     “I-I’m so sorry.” 

     Tears welled up in Snufkin’s eyes as he clung to his friend and cried, sobbing brokenly into a warm shoulder as Moomin’s broad snout rubbed against his hair. The other boy held him tightly, feeling the wanderer’s thin body shaking like a leaf in his grasp; his heart ached at the mumrik’s grief. Snufkin almost never cried. He’d only shed tears in front of Moomin once before, when the very ocean had disappeared before them at the heralding of a comet. To see his friend weeping like this cut him to the core. He held the boy until all of the tears had been spent, strangely unable to shed any of his own.

     Moomin let Snufkin rest a bit, knowing the mumrik was trying to settle back into his own skin. He was about to suggest moving when a sound not far off distracted him. Was that a bird? Had something come back to the forest?

     “Snufkin, listen.” His white ears were swiveling frantically, trying to catch it again. There it was! Lunging to his paws the moomin towed his friend behind him to another foothill not far away, leading the way down into a small hollow.

     A very large tree stood at the center, wide trunk blackened and scarred from the fire that had gnawed hungrily at it. The lower limbs were nothing but suggestions of branches, any twigs burnt off completely. A space in the center of the tree was bare and stripped of bark, jaggedly open in the center where it looked like lightning had struck long ago. Past that point the tree still had dry leaves clinging to its crown, waving gently in the breeze like a tattered banner after a battle. The sound was coming from the living part, source hidden amongst the branches. Snufkin pricked up his own ears as the noise was repeated, walking forward to lean one paw on the ancient monolith as he stretched up to look closer into the foliage.

     “Hello?” Moomin called gently, cupping both paws around his mouth. “Is anyone there?”

     A louder sound this time, like a small cry. Without warning Snufkin produced a very strange noise, a sort of trilling chirrup, his free paw curling up against his chest as he lifted his nose like a dog scenting prey. There was an answer, a pitiful mewling call.

     “I have to get up there.” His voice was urgent. 

     Moomin was about to advise removing his boots before attempting to climb the tree but then realized Snufkin hadn’t bothered to put them on in the first place. For that matter he’d left his hat at the tent too. “Be careful please. I don’t know how stable that tree is.”

     Digging his claws into the charred wood, the mumrik began to shimmy his way up the trunk, tail held out behind him for balance as he slowly left the ground behind. Every so often the boy would trill out again, cocking his head to listen to the reply. He was lost to sight among the leaves for a moment before Moomin saw his back feet and tail gradually reemerging. Carefully Snufkin descended, only able to make short downward movements in what was nearly a controlled fall. Grasped in his teeth was the scruff of what appeared to be a very small, very dirty woodie. It was wailing pitifully, curled up and clutching its tail with both front paws as his rescuer slid down the trunk. Moomin gasped in alarm when a section of charred wood broke under Snufkin’s claws, sending them plummeting several yards before the mumrik somehow caught himself. 

     Finally the two made it to the ground safely, where the boy set the woodie down carefully after collapsing onto his rear. Freed, the young creature looked around with wide eyes and spotted Moomintroll, shrilling in fear before dodging behind Snufkin’s narrow frame and whimpering. Trilling again, the mumrik turned and pulled the child back out, scooting it towards the troll with a reassuring chirp. The joy in his brown eyes when he met Moomin’s gaze made the boy’s heart give a powerful lurch. 

     Snufkin was sitting on the ground with the little woodie nervously clinging to one of his legs, looking at Moomin like the sun had finally come up after the longest night of the year. Crouching, an unbidden croon left his throat as he held one paw out in a non threatening gesture. The sound caused the mumrik’s pupils to narrow rapidly before they widened out again, taking in the child cautiously sniffing Moomintroll’s outstretched hand and blinking when it accepted the troll’s caress against its cheek. The crooning continued, lowering in pitch slightly when blue eyes met his own brown ones; it was a soothing, asking sound and Snufkin purred in response, inviting his friend to come closer. 

     Moomin crept up until he could lay on his side next to the mumrik, his body curling to form a little sheltered spot that the woodie promptly claimed. Wordlessly the young troll opened the canteen and offered it to the little child, who drank greedily from it and then put its head down on Snufkin’s knee. It was clearly exhausted. With the creature curled between the two of them like this Moomintroll was astonished at the wave of contentment that rolled over him, fogging his mind slightly.  _ I am safe, my mate is safe, my cub is safe.  _

     Giving a sonorous hum the boy flicked his tail lazily over Snufkin’s ankle, pleased when the mumrik started up a quiet purr. The woodie’s eyes dropped shut, lulled by the noises. 

     Some time passed while the child slept, the quiet moment broken when Snufkin sighed. “Moomintroll, will you do me a favor?”

     “Of course.” 

     “Look after this little one?” Seeing his friend’s confusion, the traveller elaborated. “Moominmamma made the decision not to help, and I understand and approve of it. That being said, I can’t let this youngling die. If I had thought about the park sooner, if I had bothered to check in on them earlier this season, they might still be here.”

     “That isn’t your fault.” Moomin protested gently. “No one knew there was going to be a fire.”

     The mumrik shook his head. “I failed them, but I won’t fail this one. Mamma said no splitting water to help a guest, but she said nothing about trading places, so that is what I shall do.”

     Looking up sharply, the troll lashed his tail. “What? No! Then what would you do?”

     “Fend for myself, like I’m used to doing. I’d need to leave the valley of course, otherwise things would be unduly complicated.”

     “Snufkin, your dad said it was worse out there! You’ll die if you leave now.”

     The mumrik snorted. “I have a better chance than most, but this one….” He trailed off, looking down at the sleeping woodie. “This one will certainly die unless it’s taken care of.”

     Moomintroll sat up, careful not to disturb the child. “Then you’d better be ready to take me with you, because I’m not letting you do it alone.”

     “We’ve discussed this before.” His normally mild voice had an edge. “I need my space.”

     “This isn’t about needing space! This is sacrificing yourself and I won’t let you do it! I won’t let you go out there to die on your own!”

     Snufkin threw him a pleading look. “Moomintroll, please don’t be like this. You have a home here, and a family.”

     “So do you!!” The shout took them both off guard, and Moomin lowered his voice again. “Moominvalley is your home, you have your dad, and Little My, and my parents! And- and what about me?” His eyes were burning as he glared at his friend. “Don’t I count? Am I not family to you?”

     Deflating slightly, the mumrik reached across to wipe a tear away from the troll’s cheek. “Oh, Moomin. Of course you are my family. But if you were to go with me and something happened to you then there is no home. There’s nowhere to go back to, nothing to keep me going and moving, no reason to even try anymore. If you stay in the valley then I know I will try my absolute best to return here alive.”

     His heart skipped a beat as he leaned closer. “Snufkin… I didn’t-that is- I never….” Resolve strengthened his voice. “Mamma said we help our family. If this little one is yours now, then it is mine too.”

     There was no hat to hide the other boy’s flush as he looked away. “I’m not sure you know what you’re saying.”

     Moomintroll reached carefully out, turning the mumrik’s face back to him. “I know  _ exactly _ what I’m saying.” Leaning forward, he brushed his snout lightly against Snufkin’s face; a moomin kiss.

     Snufkin froze, and for a moment Moomin was sure he had overstepped, but when he went to pull away a delicate pair of paws stopped him. An instant later he felt the unfamiliar sensation of lips pressing against his own as a gentle hand trailed along one cheek. When they separated they were both flushed, breathing slightly heavily. 

     “Oh.” Words were rather difficult. “Was that… was that a mumrik kiss?” 

     “It was a Snufkin kiss.” The boy’s brown eyes were shining softly at him, an unfairly flattering blush across his face. 

     Leaning back against the mumrik’s warm side, Moomin smiled gently to himself. 

     “I rather think I like Snufkin kisses.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I did warn you about minor character deaths >_< but at least they happened 'off screen'. And also no, this does not conclude the minor death tag. We ain't finished yet.


	6. Sprout

     They gave the child an hour to sleep while enjoying one another’s company, but finally thirst drove Moomin and Snufkin to their feet. Yawning, the woodie blinked up at them in confusion before jumping up with a start; its dark eyes were full of worry.

     “It’s alright.” Snufkin cooed soothingly. “You’re coming with us.”

     This resulted in several excited squeaks as the little one rubbed its head along first Moomin’s side and then the mumrik’s. They began walking, feet kicking up little ash clouds as they headed back through the destroyed forest towards the relatively more colorful side of the valley. Both boys were alert, newly vigilant now that there was something between them to protect-- a something that currently had one little paw holding securely onto Snufkin’s tail as they trekked. The skeletal trees seemed to make the child nervous, standing as reminders of what had nearly killed it yesterday; Moomin could sympathize. 

     “So… is this a ‘him’ woodie or a ‘her’ woodie?” The troll reached out to steady the small being as it nearly tripped over what had been a stump.

     The mumrik turned towards him, one corner of his mouth tilting up. “ _ They _ are a ‘both’ woodie. There are some trees that are either male or female, but most trees just reproduce by themselves and are both. This little one seems to be from a pine of some sort, so they are both.”

     That was new to Moomintroll. Woodies were something he often saw around the valley, but he knew very little about them in actuality. They were just another creature, little denizens of the forest that lived their own lives. “Oh.... well then how do they…?”

     “They become trees, eventually.” Snufkin regarded their new cub. “Think about it, have you ever seen an adult woodie?”

     Now that he thought about it, no he hadn’t. “But then how are new woodies made?”

     “From what I understand they spend much of their life as young ones, wandering and interacting with the world just like any other creature, then when they feel that they are ready they pick a spot and stand there.”

     “Stand there?”

     A nod from his friend. “Yes. They start to take root, and slowly they turn into a young tree, which eventually grows to a full sized tree. From there it seems they either remain just a tree for the remainder of their life or they produce pods.”

     Moomin eyed the other boy with some suspicion. “Pods? You aren’t telling me a tale, are you?”

     “Not at all, my dear Moomintroll! Do you remember years ago when I was in the valley one summer we came across that oak with a number of wasp nests hanging from it?”

     “Yes, Snork told us to stay away from it because we would get stung.”

     “Those weren’t wasp nests.” Snufkin steered them carefully around what appeared to be the possible remains of the deer from yesterday as the troll tried not to look and the woodie whimpered. “They were woodie pods; and if I’m not mistaken, those pods were eventually the… well…” He trailed off, pain lancing into the soft voice.

     “The ones we met.” Moomin finished quietly. “You said this one was from a pine though, so it isn’t part of the same seed group?”

     “No, and this one seems to be a newborn as woodies go. There was a small stump next to the tree we found this one in, and if I had a guess our little woodie sprouted right into the disaster yesterday and just climbed as far away from the heat as they could.” 

     Looking at the little creature anew, Moomintroll felt his heart give a tug. “What a scary world to come into. What shall we call them, though? It doesn’t feel right to just call them ‘woodie’.”

     The mumrik snorted. “Contrary to popular belief I’m not the default name-picker.” He caught Moomin’s confused look and shook his head. “Never mind. We can’t let our parents name them though, my dad would call them something terrible like ‘log’ or ‘needle’, and your parents….well I don’t know what they would call them.”

     “It isn’t them I would be worried about.” The young troll flicked one ear. “Can you imagine Little My naming this one?” 

     “My heart quivers in fear.” Snufkin shuddered. Pausing for a minute as they stood on the edge of the dead zone, he turned and looked carefully into the youngling’s eyes. “You are a lucky little imp, aren’t you.” A few moments more and the woodie reached out a paw to bat at the boy’s nose. “So Imp you shall be.” 

     “Imp.” It was short, sweet, and had a hint of tricks yet to be played on an unsuspecting world. 

     The mumrik trilled quietly to the newly named child, who locked gazes with him. “Imp.” Snufkin spoke clearly. “Imp.” The woodie tilted their head and pointed to the white troll beside them. 

     Moomin shook his head. “No, I’m Moomin.” With his tail the troll gestured first to the woodie and then to himself. “Imp, Moomin.” When they turned to the mumrik he pointed to himself.

     “Snufkin.”

     They seemed to understand, opening their little mouth and uttering a small “Ih!”

     “Close enough.” Snufkin chuckled, starting them walking again as the grass reappeared under their feet. “I don’t know how long it takes for them to talk, but I think it’s a couple of years. The.... the others were starting to use actual words last year when I visited.” 

     Brushing a paw along the mumrik’s shoulder in sympathy, Moomintroll reached down and took the little hand being offered to him with a rush of warmth. It was midday now and the sun burned brightly overhead, beating unmercifully down on the tiny family as they meandered towards home. In the distance they could see the red hat of Mrs. Fillyjonk, supervising her children as they dug their fifth hole of the day under the little bridge near Moominhouse. As the three of them approached the area she moved out into the sunlight and glared menacingly. 

     “Get away from my water hole!” Her voice was hoarse, grating against their ears like dry sandpaper. 

     “We’re not here for your water hole.” Snufkin answered curtly, “We’re crossing the bridge. You know, the one that leads up to Moomin’s house? The one that’s right over there?”

     Her narrow muzzle twitched. “Don’t get smart with me.” Upon seeing one of her offspring scaling the bank to take a closer look at Imp, Mrs. Fillyjonk lunged forward and dragged them backward by the tail. “What have I told you about running off without my say-so? Get back into the shade this instant!”

     Moomintroll blinked as she began to scuttle back under the small shelter, scolding her child all the while. “I think we’d better just get home.”

     Upon reaching the front lawn of the house Joxter came bounding through the open window and raced up to inspect his son, sniffing him and searching for any sign of injury.

     “Dad, I’m fine.”

     “I’ll be the judge of that.” The older mumrik looked at the dark ash coating his kit’s trousers. “What on earth were you doing? We woke up and neither of you were here and you left your hat and boots behind in your tent! No note! We thought you’d been eaten by the Groke or something!”

     “No ice on the lawn.” Moominpappa came ambling out of the door with his wife behind him. “I told you they’d gone somewhere. Is that my canteen?”

     Moomin nodded. “We borrowed it, Pappa.”

     Reality seemed to catch up to Joxter and he bent to look at the small being hiding behind Moomin’s sturdy figure. “You seem to have an extra shadow.” When the vagabond tried to approach the woodie squeaked and ran to Snufkin; following, the Joxter stopped quickly when his son chirped quietly to the child. Suddenly the mumrik’s whole demeanor changed, his pupils widening as he trilled much like Snufkin had earlier that day. 

     Confused, the little one made a questioning sound and came out slightly from their hiding place. Crouching and approaching, Joxter tilted his head until it was almost sideways before flopping onto one side completely, turning onto his back to look at the woodie upside-down. At this nonthreatening display the child emerged fully from behind Snufkin and immediately began patting at the elder mumrik’s slightly stubbled cheeks, straight little tail waving back and forth.

     Little My seemingly appeared beside Moomin, watching the interaction with interest. “So… why exactly did you bring a woodie home?”

     “I’d like to know that too.” It was Snork, hands on hips with his sister beside him. “Why bring it home if we aren’t going to help it? This is no time to bring in a stray.”

     Snufkin took a few steps towards the porch, tail flicking. “ _ They _ are not a stray.  _ They _ are family.”

     “Family?” Snork approached the mumrik, glasses fogging slightly in the heat. “This is a random woodie!  _ They _ aren’t related to Moominmamma and Moominpappa.”

     “Neither are you.” Little My stepped up next to her brother. “Neither am I! Family isn’t just blood.”

     “So Snufkin just gets to bring home this kid? Who’s going to look after it when he goes wandering? Who’s going to make sure it has enough water?”

     “I will.” Moomin stepped up beside the young mumrik, taking his hand. 

     My rolled her eyes skyward. “Oh  _ finally. _ ” 

     “Son, I don’t suppose I could ask you to maybe slow down in the future? Picking a mate and making me a grandpa on the same day is a little overwhelming.” The Joxter was sitting cross legged on the dried grass, Imp in his lap happily gnawing on the tip of the vagabond’s bristly tail.

     “By the Groke, you’re right.” Moominpappa sat down on the porch steps, “I’m a grandpa.”

     Moominmamma came down to stand near the Joxter, humming at the little woodie as she approached. Hearing the sound, Imp looked up and tilted their head before standing up and going to meet the matriarch, leaving the older mumrik looking slightly woebegone as the child immediately hugged as much of the mother troll as they could get their tiny arms around.

     “Oh sure, you’re already the favorite grandparent.” Sniffing in mock injury the Joxter went to sit by Moominpappa. “You moomins are friend shaped and it isn’t fair.”

     Snorkmaiden finally spoke up. “I suppose I’ll set an extra place for lunch then.” Turning, she snuffled once and disappeared back inside Moominhouse. 

     “I think she’s upset.” Moomin scuffed one foot along the ground, ears flattened.

     Mamma patted her son’s fluffy head. “Sometimes it’s hard to give up a future we’ve had planned for a long time, even if we knew the plan wasn’t likely to work. She’ll be alright once she has some time to think about it.”

     “Would’ve been easier if she’d given up a while ago.” Little My grumbled under her breath. Leaping forward, she successfully caught a cricket that had been watching the strange family from the shelter of Moominmamma’s dead flowerbed; she then offered it to Imp, who had come to investigate. They didn’t seem bothered by My, perhaps because of her size, and accepted the cricket with a chirp of thanks before promptly putting it in their mouth and eating it.

     Snork slapped both paws over his snout as the mymble howled with laughter at Snufkin’s expression of amused disgust. Scandalized, Moomin looked to his mother for some sort of guidance only to see her fighting valiantly to keep a straight face. 

     “Dunno what everyone’s laughing about.” Joxter’s tone was sulky even though the corner of his mouth twitched wildly. “Eating a cricket is perfectly normal, though they’re a bit leggy for me.”

     Moominpappa patted his old friend on the shoulder. “Ahaha- ehem! You’re quite right of course. Growing children need- aheehehe- harumph! Protein!” 

     Imp, simply hearing all the laughter, graced them with a beatific smile before running up to Snufkin and raising their arms in the universal ‘pick me up’ gesture. “I think maybe we should head inside for lunch, since apparently this one is rather hungry.” 

     Nodding in agreement, the family made their way into Moominhouse, though Joxter waited until Moomin was the last one remaining and stopped him on the porch. “What happened?”

     The young troll brushed some soot from his fur subconsciously. “Snufkin woke this morning and realized that the park would have been in the fire zone. He was about to just up and leave but I figured we needed water so I got Pappa’s canteen before we left. He was moving so quickly…”

     Joxter nodded, “I’m guessing then you went to check on the place?”

     “Yes.” Moomintroll sighed. “The whole thing was gone. That old lady that used to be the police officer… and all those woodies who lived with her up there….”

     “They were gone?”

     A nod. “Snufkin made me wait in the park while he checked the cabin. When he came back he told me he’d found them.”

     “The elements make no judgements on who lives or dies when a disaster comes to call.” The older mumrik rubbed tired eyes. “I’m glad you didn’t have to see it, lad, and I’m sorry my kit did.”

     “From there I heard crying and we found Imp up in a tree.” Moomin didn’t want to think about how frail Snufkin had seemed that morning, weeping at the loss of all those lives. 

     “I see.” Joxter murmured. “Thank you for telling me, Moomin.” Shooing the boy into the house, he took a look up at the cloudless blue sky.

     “Rain soon, please.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one was a little shorter, but we needed everyone to be acquainted before getting to the next little stage of the story. Hang in there, fellas.


	7. Withering Roots

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just going to preface this with a note! I'm moving this week! As such, it might take me a few days to update this, as I'm about to be very busy. All in all though, I think this fic has about two or three chapters left in it. The storm is a' comin'!

     It did not rain. 

     The valley continued to dry out, the trees along the streambed wilting now that their water stores were used up and dropping leaves in a desperate effort to save the main trunks. The insects were growing quiet without any morning dew to drink from the grass stalks, and even the persistent weeds were beginning to die off. Herbivores were growing scarce, either attempting to leave and find water outside the valley (and often dying in the mountains) or going to ground trying to find any small caves or crevices that held still-moist lichen. Those that remained were thin and frail from lack of good forage. The carnivores were having a slightly better time of it, feeding on weak prey or the carcasses of those who hadn’t survived. There was no birdsong in the morning, no fireflies in the evening; those that could fly had left when the stream dried up completely, able to go farther in search of precious water.

     Moominhouse was currently witnessing a strange event as a cry and angry snarls were heard from the cellar. Moominmamma, who was in the kitchen preparing a light breakfast, could hear the commotion under her feet and looked down as if to see through the floorboards for a source to the fiasco. Snufkin and Moomin, who were out on the front porch with little Imp, jumped to their feet at the ruckus and immediately sprinted to the cellar door at the side of the house. Stopping just short of the sturdy door Moomintroll put a large paw out to keep Imp away from the structure, shielding them with his broad body. Snufkin approached carefully, jumping back out of the way with tail bushed when the door was thrown open with a crash and two shapes came hurtling out of the darkness.

     The first was a familiar sight, though an unwelcome one. A short, shaggy body low to the ground was running on four spindly limbs; the large nose was flared and the eyes above it were terrified. Blood was running from vicious looking scratches along the creature’s sides as it sprinted away from the house with an angry wail. 

     “What the--- Stinky?” Moomin blinked in utter confusion.

     The second figure came bursting up the cellar stairs in hot pursuit. It was the Joxter, teeth bared, tufted ears flat along his skull, and tail bristling to twice its normal size. The mumrik tore after his quarry on all fours, bounding over the dead grass and paying no heed as the red hat he wore fluttered to the ground in his wake. Snufkin looked once between the cellar and the fleeing intruder and tore after his father, starting on two legs but dropping to four when it became apparent he wasn’t going to catch up the normal way. 

     Snork came bursting out onto the porch with his sister right behind him. “What on earth is happening?”

     Moomin flapped his ears in agitation, picking up Imp and walking towards them. “I have no idea! There was a noise and then Stinky came out of the cellar and Joxter was chasing him and then Snufkin just took off after them!” 

     “I’ll tell you what’s happening.” Moominpappa emerged from the dim cellar. “Joxter and I went down to tap a new barrel and we found that little sneak down there! He’s been hiding down there for a while because besides the ones we’ve used there’s two more empty barrels!” The troll rumbled angrily, deep chest vibrating as he stomped in irritation. 

     “Two whole barrels?” Snorkmaiden was appalled, paws on either side of her snout in horror.

     Moominmamma came out onto the porch, shutting the door behind her and looking to her husband worriedly. “Where does that put us at, dear?”

     “Four, counting the one we just tapped.” His voice was grim.

     That revelation was met with silence. They had started with ten barrels of water, rationing them carefully and only using them minimally for cooking; they’d been relying on preserved fruits from the garden and orchard to add moisture to their diet. Now instead of only being down four barrels they were down six. It was a hefty blow.

     “W-what are we going to do?” Snork leaned against the railing in shock, tail quivering. “We don’t know when this drought will end, and now we barely have any water left!”

     “We must stay here.” They turned to see Joxter approaching with his son, both of them breathing heavily from the run. Licking red from his sharp claws, the elder mumrik spat to one side with a frown. “Ugh, even his blood stinks!” Snufkin snorted in agreement, cleaning his own claws by rubbing them against the coarse grass.

     Snorkmaiden looked at the pair with wide eyes. “Did you kill him?”

     “No.” The young wanderer moved forward to join his little family, chirping reassurance to Imp who was watching him with concern in their dark eyes.

     “Hmph.” Joxter reclaimed his hat from the ground and sat on the bottom step. “Couldn’t catch him, little coward bolted down a burrow first chance he got.” The man sighed. “If he’d only had a tail we could have grabbed him.”

     “And done what?” Little My went to sit by him. “We couldn’t eat him, everyone would die of food poisoning. Couldn’t make him work for us in repayment either because then we’d have to feed him. Let him go for now, though I’m guessing you taught him a lesson?”

     The mumrik’s icy-blue eyes narrowed at her. “Oh yes, we did. He’s not going to forget his error in a hurry.”

     “Why should we stay here?” Snork went back to their previous topic of conversation. “We have four barrels, we should be getting out of here on a ship or something. We can sail to Hattifattener island to try and find water.”

     “I’m afraid it’s too late for that, my boy.” Moominpappa frowned and tilted his hat downward. “Only four barrels of water wouldn’t last us long on the ocean. The salty air just makes you thirstier, and there wouldn’t be a guarantee that we’d find the island in time or even that there would be water on it.”

     Moominmamma flicked one ear. “And we can’t go over the mountains either, not carrying barrels of water with us.”

     “It’s worse out there anyway.” Joxter swatted My with his tail, foiling her intention to sneakily pluck hairs from the end of it. “The safest option is to stay here and hope to wait this out, though we might have to cut down the water a little. Two cups a day I think, and we have to avoid using it elsewhere as much as possible.”

     “Two cups?” The Snork shook his head. “Three is hard enough already.”

     Moomin exchanged glances with Snufkin, their worry mirrored in one another’s faces. Imp was little, just a child, and couldn’t deal with reduced rations as well as the rest of them could. Three cups of water was hard enough for the woodie, but thankfully they didn’t know anything different having sprouted right in the middle of the drought.

     “Not Imp.” Surprisingly the objection came from Snorkmaiden. She had come around within the past days and had grown to love the little one, playing with them during her spare time or when the two boys were busy. “They’re too young for that.”

     Snork, amazingly, agreed. “They won’t make it if they have to go down to two.”

     It was agreed upon, the adults nodding to one another in solidarity. 

     “Thank you.” Snufkin’s voice was soft as Moomin hugged their cub closer. 

     Mamma beamed at everyone. “We’ll keep this family together, just you see! Now, let’s go in and have some breakfast. I think I might try making some of those apples into applesauce with a bit of extra water from the preserves; that will be a good way to stay hydrated without wasting anything.”

     “I’ll be in after just a moment.” Pappa was appraising the cellar door. “Right after I get a sturdy padlock.”

 

                                                                            *************************************************

 

     The heat of the day was just beginning to ebb as sunlight finally gleamed its last over the horizon, leaving only the evening glow in its wake. Imp was playing in the front yard, happily arranging dry twigs into patterns that only made sense to them. 

     “I can’t wait to see their reaction to the valley when it’s green again.” Moomin was sat on the top step to the porch, leaning back on his elbows, which were brushing against the mumrik behind him.

     “They’ve never even seen rain.” Snufkin gave a dry chuckle. He was lying on one side, propped on one arm with his tail flicking lazily over the porch boards.

     “No, I suppose they haven’t.” Moomintroll looked up at the sky, eyes thoughtful. “How strange to think that there was a time we first saw rain, or snow. What must it have been like?”

     Brushing one paw along the young troll’s arm, the mumrik hummed in thought. “You and I were too small to process what we were seeing. Woodies are born more ready than we are-- possibly because of their herbaceous origins. Imp was sprouted ready to move and learn, but you and I were born helpless for the first year of life.”

     “Why?”

     “Well, I think it has to do with what we are. Mumriks are predators, and mymbles aren’t exactly low on the food chain. You moomins aren’t hunters, but you’re big and solid, enough so that being able to run upon birth doesn’t seem to be a priority.” Snufkin sighed. “Though from what dad tells me moomins do gain mobility quickly.”

     Moomin turned to look at his mate, admiring the warmth in his brown eyes. “How is it that you know so much?”

     The wanderer smiled. “I can’t carry much on my back while I travel, but I have infinite space in my head to carry everything else. Memories, music, things I hear in passing--- they all stay with me. Feelings and sensations stay too, but those are in my whole body, not just my mind.”

     “Sensations?”

     “Mm.” Snufkin nodded. “The feeling of the damp air when I wake up by the stream in early spring, the way that the sound of your family laughing together carries down to me when the front window is open, and the first hug when I come back to Moominvalley. All of those feelings are mine to remember, and to call up if I’m lonely on the road.”

     Moomin flushed. “You remember my hugs?”

     Tilting his hat brim low, the other boy found the grain of the wood below him suddenly fascinating. “Yes.”

     “Ih!” Imp had come to see what was turning their parents’ faces so red and was peering at each boy in turn. 

     “You, little one, are due for bedtime soon.” The troll nuzzled his snout against the woodie’s dark skin. 

     “And a wash.”

     The child squeaked in protest as Snufkin drew them closer and began carefully picking bits of dead grass from their coarse fur, occasionally using a rough tongue to smooth an errant curl. Smiling, Moomintroll gently stroked the child’s head as he untangled knots from the stiff hair. Protests soon gave way to a small, crackling purr as Imp soaked up the attention from both guardians. One ear twitched as Moomin registered footsteps coming up the hill towards them. An unbidden rumble reverberated through the broad chest and set Snufkin on immediate alert. Imp, eyes widening at the deep noise, scuttled behind the both of them as the mumrik sat up to face their guest. 

     “Mrs. Fillyjonk.” The young traveller’s tone was wary, but cordial. 

     The woman looked much the worse for wear, pacing towards them in dirty clothes and with narrow eyes, her skin stretched tight over the already narrow face. Her children were nowhere to be seen, most likely back at home.

     “Water.” Her voice was raspy.

     “I beg your pardon?” Moomintroll tilted his head.

     She repeated it. “Water.”

     “Yes, well done. You’ve named an element!” Little My had been sitting on the front windowsill, spying on her brother and his mate from inside before seeing their visitor. The mymble surreptitiously began knocking on the inside wall with one paw, covering the movement by appearing to lounge against the side frame.

     Snork, who had been reading in a chair off to one side, heard the sound and looked up. Quickly assessing the situation, he turned and raced up the stairs to fetch Moominpappa from his study. 

     Back outside, Mrs. Fillyjonk was glaring angrily at the small girl. “Don’t speak back to your elders.” Sniffing in disdain, she brushed dirt off of her (already ruined) frock. “You have water. You should share it.”

     “What’s all this then?” Pappa came out the front door, feigning ignorance. “Ah, Mrs. Fillyjonk! Lovely to see you! Wonderful sunset, isn’t it?”

     “I’ve no time to chit-chat with you , you ignoramus. I will repeat myself only once. You have water. Share it.”

     The patriarch snorted. “Charming way of asking. We have no obligation to share what little we have with you.”

     “I’m digging with my children all day just to find enough moisture to keep us alive, while you’re sitting here twiddling your thumbs without a care! It isn’t fair, I tell you!” She stomped her feet aggressively on the scorched lawn. 

     Whimpering, Imp tugged at Moomintroll’s fur. “Mrt?” They calmed slightly when one white paw came to cover their own small one.

     “It’ll be alright, dear one.” The endearment was subconscious, slipping from the troll’s lips without a thought. “You’re safe.”

     “Life is not fair, Mrs. Fillyjonk.” Everyone parted to let Moominmamma through. The mother troll had both paws serenely tucked into her apron pockets, though her expression was sharp. “You had ample warning of this drought, same as the rest of us. You were told it would be wise to save water from the stream. We have little enough as it is, and we cannot spare any to make your day easier. Everyone is thirsty.”

     “Not all of us have barrels just lying around.” Fillyjonk spat. “And you’ve brought home a brat since the stream dried, so clearly you have some to spare.” 

     Mamma rumbled threateningly, ears flat and back straight as she made her way off the porch to stand before the irate creature. “You will not come here, insult my family, and demand things that we do not have to give. You will take yourself out of my yard and away from my house this instant!”   

    Faced with an angry troll, Mrs. Fillyjonk seemed to lose a bit of steam. “You’re just sitting here sipping easily though, my children have blisters on their palms from digging up moss and dirt for water! I- I’ll fight you if I have to!”

     “You’ll lose.” My stated frankly. Joxter and Snorkmaiden had come to stand with her in the window, both watching with keen eyes. “You’re outnumbered and, to be honest, outclassed when it comes to a fight.” 

     “Your children are wondering where their mother is, and you’re here arguing instead of tending to them. Get out of here and go back to your own family, Mrs. Fillyjonk!” Snorkmaiden swished her tail threateningly. “Or we will see you out ourselves. Go find your own answer to your problem.”

     “And what do you expect me to do when we can’t dig up anything anymore?” She was backing away, but was clearly furious. “Do you have a plan, oh wise one?”

     “Pray for rain, Mrs. Fillyjonk.” Mamma allowed a hint of softness into her voice. “That’s the only plan we have.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fun fact: I actually have a degree in Fisheries and Wildlife, so the bit about trees in the previous chapter and the bit about development of young are based on legitimate studies!


	8. Breaking Point

     Two cups of water a day was beginning to take a toll on the residents of Moominhouse. Everyone was tired during the day, conserving energy by lazing indoors and sleeping as much as possible. Eyes were sunken in, fur was duller, and eating sometimes only served to make them more thirsty-- though Mamma tried her best with the ingredients she had. Speaking was becoming more of a luxury than a necessity as talking tended to just dry out one’s mouth, and the group had become adept at reading one another through physical signals and nonverbal sounds. 

     Others had come looking for water at the house and had been turned away promptly, frightened off by the large family and thwarted by the large lock on the cellar door. Moomin and Snufkin had taken an evening to walk the perimeter of the lawn and scuff pawmarks into the dry earth in a silent warning:  _ We live here, we are watching. _ Imp kept close to their new parents, curling up in the tent with them at night and falling asleep to mingled cooes and purrs. The woodie adored the two boys, sometimes attempting to groom bits and pieces of grass or dirt from their fur with little paws and a tiny, sandpaper tongue. 

     Worry was beginning to prey on Moomintroll, and he could see it in Snufkin’s eyes when the mumrik thought no one was watching. They were down to just one and a half barrels. Mamma’s warning hung over the pair, but the young troll just knew that his mate was pondering the best way to funnel some of his own water to the little one and to Moomin himself. He didn’t blame Snufkin; it was hardly fair to blame the other boy for something he was thinking about too. One night in their tent, after Imp had drifted off, the two lay curled around their child and spoke quietly so as not to wake them.

     “Snufkin, what are we going to do?”

     The mumrik sighed. “I’m not sure there is anything we  _ can _ do.”

     There was silence before the troll broke it. “What… what happens if it doesn’t rain?”

     “I suppose we will die.”

     “I don’t think I really want to die, Snufkin.” Moomin sniffled quietly. “I don’t want Imp to die, or Mamma or Pappa, or My, or your dad, or you.”

     A slender paw brushed along the young troll’s cheek. “I know, love. None of us wants it to happen.” The endearment slipped out with surprising ease, bringing a flush to Moomin’s face. 

     “Imp is so young. Oh, Snufkin I love them so, but being a parent is terribly painful.” He buried his broad muzzle against the mumrik’s narrow chest. “I feel like the whole weight of the world is crashing down on me. I’m failing them. There’s just…. I’m carrying an extra life along with mine…”

     “I know.” Snufkin’s voice was rough. “I’m carrying it with you though. We’re doing everything we can.” He nuzzled against the troll’s forehead. “If the worst should happen, I’ll be right here with you. You won’t face this alone, neither will Imp.” 

     “You promise?”

     “I promise. If the rain doesn’t come, then I will be here with you until the very end.”

     “But...but what if something happens to you? I’ll be here alone, with Imp.”

     Moomin felt soft lips brush the top of his head. “I will wait to go. You won’t be alone.”

     Quiet sobs rolled through the boy’s frame at the shame of the terrible thing he’d asked of his mate. To be without Snufkin was terrifying, but the mumrik was willing to be without him to save him that pain. 

     “Sshhh, my dearest Moomintroll. This is a choice I make freely, my gift to you.” Snufkin gently washed the downy fur on the crown of his mate’s head, feeling him drift off. “Sleep, my dove. It will all feel better in the morning.”

     The night descended into silence around the tiny tent, no insects or nocturnal birds remained to sing the valley to sleep. The quiet was only broken by the whispers of the wind and the muffled sound of a mumrik boy finally allowing himself to cry now that his mate had fallen asleep.

 

                                                                      ***************************************************************

 

     It did indeed look better in the morning. For the first time in nearly a month there were a few puffy clouds skidding across the sky, and the morning air was cooler than it had been. Imp went tumbling out of the tent and stared up in awe at the strange shapes, pointing up with one paw questioningly and looking towards a sleepy-eyed Moomin.

     “Hm? Oh! Those are clouds! They’re normal.” 

     Snufkin stuck his head out the front flap. “Clouds? Where?” A relieved smile graced the mumrik’s face. “Oh thank goodness, I think the weather might be starting to change.”

     The cooler air seemed to invigorate the boys and their small charge; Moomin went to get their water for the morning and came back out to find his mate and cub in a full-out tussle. Tail up, Imp was on all fours with their back arched, jumping forward with little growling sounds at Snufkin, who swatted playfully at them. Looking up at Moomin, the mumrik was distracted just enough that he didn’t notice the woodie until the little body cannoned into him and sent them rolling over the dead grass in a scuffle. Breaking apart again the pair went into another round of arched backs and little, scuttling charges before Snufkin pounced upon Imp and pinned them down, washing dirt from the protesting youngster’s face with a satisfied purr. 

     A painful, wonderful feeling squeezed Moomintroll’s chest as he walked over to them and handed out their cups. Snufkin let Imp get up and leaned against his mate as they all sipped the drinks, making them last as long as possible; the mumrik’s eyes danced as Imp immediately began batting their empty cup across the yard and chasing it with excited squeals.

     “Ah, youth.” 

     Moomin looked over, elbowing the other boy and nearly knocking him over. “You make us sound so old.” 

     “Compared to them we’re ancient.” Snufkin set his mug to one side. “I can feel my bones creaking already.”

     “Probably because we’ve been doing nothing for weeks.” Stretching, Moomin stood and offered his mate a hand up. 

     “This is true. If I sit still for much longer I’m going to start growing moss.” The traveller stretched out his spine with a satisfying crack. “It’s cooler this morning, why don’t we all go for a little walk upstream?”

     The troll beamed. “An excellent idea!”

     Paw in paw the boys collected their offspring and began a lazy stroll up the streambanks, watching in amusement as Imp bounded around them investigating each new rock and twig. 

     “Just imagine what they’ll think of all the flowers.” Moomintroll sighed. “And all the birds and green grass. It will seem like paradise after all this.” 

     “We’ll be able to go to the beach, and Imp can learn to swim. I can teach them to use a fishing pole.” A pause. “Well…. I suppose first I’ll have to teach them what a fish is.”

     “Mm.”

     The morning passed silently by them as the tiny family wandered near the edge of the forest on the unburnt side of the valley. The trees were looking the worse for wear, drooping and nearly leafless though it was summer; underbrush was nothing but dry stems and twigs now. Snufkin’s keen eyes picked out the small bones of prey animals and creeps that hadn’t found enough water, many of them in the dry streambed where they had gone to in a last effort for moisture. There were small caves up closer to the mountains where the mumrik knew many of the remaining animals must have gone to shelter, licking at dripping stalactites for meager amounts of liquid and eating tubers and lichens growing on the subterranean walls. 

     At last the group decided to stop at a small cluster of boulders which poked from the valley floor like petrified sprouts from some bygone era. Settling against the shaded side of one, Snufkin waved at Imp to play with a stern “Don’t go far.” as Moomin sat beside him.

     “Starting to warm up a little.” The troll brushed dust from his white fur. “We’ll need to head back soon for their afternoon water.” 

     “We’ll give them a bit longer to play, but yes.” 

     Moomintroll rubbed his snout against the other boy’s cheek affectionately. “Maybe they’ll tire out enough for a nap.”

     “Wouldn’t count on it.” Snufkin flushed and tilted his hat brim down, curling an arm around his mate’s shoulders. 

     “No.” The young troll laughed. “But I can dream, at least.”

     They spent several minutes like that, leaning against one another and listening to the sounds of Imp dashing about somewhere amidst the rocks. The breeze ruffled around them playfully, whispering through the dry grass like it was trying to tell them a secret. The pair fell into a sort of daze, not quite asleep but not quite awake. 

     A sudden, shrill cry of alarm sent both boys rocketing to their feet. Snufkin turned and locked gazes briefly with his mate. “That was Imp! Come on!”

     Moomintroll took off just behind the mumrik, dashing around the boulder they had been using as a shelter and frantically casting around as they ran to try and pinpoint the location of his cub. The day had turned sinister, the whispering of the breeze now a murmured threat that plucked at the young troll’s fur and slid against his ears like oil on water. Ahead of him, Snufkin was letting out trills, listening to the squeaks of reply and adjusting his path accordingly. The boulders finally grew more sparse, just a few here and there as they came out into a clearing right on the edge of the forest. 

     Both boys skidded to a halt at the entrance to the little copse. Imp was quivering at the other end of the clearing, mewling and tugging to get out of the grip of their captor. 

     “Is… is that the Park Keeper?” Moomintroll was shocked at the hemulen’s appearance. The officer was rail thin, his fur balding in patches that revealed red, irritated skin beneath. He was wearing his police uniform, but it was so dirty and tattered that a stranger would have a difficult time identifying the garment. Most unsettling though were the hemulen’s eyes; they burned with a fevered madness and roamed around the area without really focusing on anything. 

     Seeing them, the officer tilted his head to one side and spoke out in a voice that sounded like sandpaper over metal. “You two! Criminals! Come to ruin my park again? You can’t! My signs are all nailed up and glued on!” He gestured with his free paw to the empty clearing. “Padlocks and chains! No more lost signs!” 

     “He’s gone mad.” Snufkin’s gaze never left their opponent.

     Seeing their parents, Imp tugged towards them but was stopped by the firm grip on their scruff. “Ih!” Little paws reached out for the two boys.

     “Let them go!” Moomin’s chest ached with the need to go to his precious cub. 

     The Park Keeper looked down at the woodie like he had just remembered their presence. “Hm? Certainly not! The woodies are my responsibility! My park. They belong with me… given to me to take care of.” Flattening his ears, he glared at Snufkin. “You stole the rest! Where are they?” For a moment the hemulen’s eyes cleared. “The forest burned… your fault! All of them gone… You can’t have this one! They belong with me… safe!”

     “Imp is ours!” White tail lashing back and forth, the young troll stomped a foot threateningly. “We found them, we’re raising them.”

     “As if I’d let two criminals? No! Will not corrupt this innocent child!”

     A low growling sound was starting to claw its way out of Snufkin’s narrow chest. The mumrik stared at the Park Keeper with predatory focus, brown eyes narrowed and pupils slitted. He took a pace forward, shoulders stiff and head down; his tail bristled behind him. “Let go of my  _ kit _ .” The boy spat the words across the clearing like missiles.

     Taken aback by the sudden ferocity, the Park Keeper shrank backward but seemed to shake off the fear. He puffed up his thin frame as much as possible and stomped both feet. “Back away! No choice but to use force! Threatening me--yes! Officer! Officer of the law!” 

     Snufkin ignored the warning and took two more paces across the clearing. “Give us back our child.” 

     The hemulen’s reddened eyes rolled in anger as he reached into his coat and pulled out his weapon. Both boys froze.

     Moominvalley was a primarily peaceful place; the residents lived in harmony and rarely had any serious fights with one another. As such, weapons were few and far between amongst the denizens of the little vale. Pappa had his old rifle from adventuring days gone by, but he’d only once gotten it out to act as serious defence (Grokes were rather serious after all). There were plenty of sticks to use as striking weapons, and of course everyone had paws and teeth if it came right down to it. Guns as a rule were almost nonexistent; there was only one other besides Pappa’s that anyone knew for sure existed in their community… and it happened to belong to the police department. It was an old revolver, dirty and worn with age and neglect. The mechanism hadn’t been oiled in years and the barrel was starting to show eminent signs of rust. Nevertheless, it was a weapon, and Moomintroll felt an icy tingle run down his spine at the sight of it. 

     “How dare you point that at another person!” The young troll was incensed. “You’re supposed to protect the valley, not threaten it!”

     “Protect. Protecting my park! Protecting this woodie!” There were flecks of foam at the side of the officer’s mouth as he screamed at them. “No protecting criminals! Protecting the valley from you!”

     Sensing the heightened tension in the air, Imp turned in desperation and bit at the Park Keeper’s side, managing to sink little teeth into the fabric of his uniform. Cursing in surprise the hemulen loosened his grip on the woodie, who immediately broke away to run to their parents but was hauled back by their tail, screeching in pain and distress. “Iiihhh!”

     Something in snufkin snapped. With a yowl that set Moomin’s fur standing up on end, the mumrik tore across the clearing on all fours as his mate gave a cry of  alarm and began circling to one side. As much as Moomintroll wanted to follow the other boy, he knew that he stood a better chance of retrieving Imp if they split up. Fumbling in his shock, the Park Keeper brought up the gun.

     The first shot went so wide that the hemulen might as well have been aiming at the sky, zinging off into the distance like a bat out of hell. Between shaking paws and an ill-kept gun the next two bullets were far off the mark as well; one hit a tree off to the side and another sparked off a boulder. Everything after that happened so quickly it was difficult for anyone to process. Dirt sprayed around Snufkin’s feet as the earth took punishment from the hemulen’s weapon, the last bullet left the chamber, and Imp was snatched away by Moomin when the Park Keeper went to try and reload his gun. Not a moment later Snufkin slammed into his opponent with claws outstretched and teeth bared, sending the two rolling across the grass in a mess of snarling and bellowing anger. The gun was sent spinning across the glade.

     Bleeding from clawmarks across his cheeks, the officer was swinging wildly with both paws to try and pummel the mumrik away from him. Snufkin barely seemed to register the blows, raining scratch after scratch down on the Park Keeper. 

     “Iiiiiihhhhhhh!” 

     Moomintroll held the wailing child close. “Sshh, it’s alright. It’ll be ok.” His blue eyes were fixed on the struggle, worry eating at his heart.

     “Assaulting an officer!” The hemulen was shrieking. “Criminal! Horrible!” With desperate strength the Park Keeper managed to get both feet up enough to shove Snufkin off with a powerful kick to the ribs. The boy went flying and landed with a thud and a low groan, skidding across the grass to lie dazed a few yards away. 

     Anger flooded Moomin’s senses, bringing everything into sharp focus as a bellow forced its way out of his deep chest. Hearing the noise, the officer scrambled to his paws and took off, staggering crazily away from the clearing. 

     The young troll set Imp quickly down next to the fallen mumrik. “Stay with your father. I’ll be right back.” Whirling around, he set off in hot pursuit of the fleeing hemulen.

     Dead undergrowth whipped at Moomintroll’s legs as he gained on the Park Keeper, ears flat and tail streaming behind him. Ahead of him the hemulen was casting panicked looks over his shoulder, breath sobbing in a parched throat as he ran blindly through the trees. Looking back as he was, the officer didn’t see the root until it was too late, tripping headlong and rolling down a small gulch to crash against a rock below. Moomin brought himself up short, standing on the ridge and peering down at the limp figure in the ditch; he didn’t appear to be moving, or even breathing, and blood was seeping out from behind the hemulen’s skull like a stain spreading on fabric. Snorting furiously, the young troll spun on his heel and trotted back towards his family, the threat now gone. 

     Emerging back into the glade Moomin could see the back of Snufkin, who was leaning up against a grizzled pine. Imp stood beside him, leaning forward to wash a scrape across the mumrik’s cheek. “I’m back.” He approached the pair, smiling as the little woodie turned to greet him. “We should head back home, a drink and some rest wou…” The troll stopped, words trailing off when he spotted the scarlet flower blooming against the dirt-stained white of Snufkin’s shirt, just under his collarbone on the right side. 

     The other boy grimaced up at him. “Erm...I think I might need some help getting back to the house.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> SO SORRY this took so long! I've been moving and finals are around the corner, so I've been studying and putting the house together with barely a chance to breathe! Here's the next chapter though, hope you enjoy it. We've just got a bit left to go!


	9. Grafting

     The journey home took much longer than the journey out. Snufkin was up and walking, but he couldn’t go very fast with his injury; his face was pale and set in a grimace of pain. Moomintroll fidgeted with concern as his mate stumped gamely onward, red stain spreading across his shirt, and kept a sharp eye on Imp. The little woodie had realized something was seriously amiss and kept one paw curled around the troll’s tail as they made their way home. Occasionally they would chirp to their injured parent, sniffing anxiously at the iron-tainted air and whimpering at the mumrik’s rough grunt of acknowledgment. The relief was palpable when Moominhouse hove into view; Snufkin’s feet were scuffing badly by that point and he’d been forced to throw one arm around his mate’s shoulders for support.

     Imp broke off and ran ahead when they crossed the little bridge over the dried stream, scurrying up the path and letting out a squeal of distress that sent the occupants of the home to their feet in alarm. A dark head poked out the living room window and was swiftly followed by the rest of the Joxter, passing his grandchild and sprinting down the little road to meet the bedraggled boys. 

     “Snufkin! What happened?” The traveller’s eyes were frantic.

     Loosening his hold on Moomin, the younger mumrik stumbled forward and fell into his parent’s arms. “Dad!”

     Joxter scooped up his son, letting out low trills as he nudged the boy’s forehead in distress. 

     Coming up on one side, Little My paled at the sight of blood on her brother’s shirt. She did an abrupt pivot and raced back through the door with a shout of “Mamma! Mamma! Come quick!”

     “We went for a walk because the weather was nicer.” Moomintroll spoke for the injured boy, who’s eyelids were fluttering in an effort to stay conscious. “Imp was playing and the Park Keeper tried to take them.”

     “He did  _ what? _ ” My was back, Moominmamma in tow.

     “He was crazy, Mamma!” The young troll fought back tears. “He was talking about how he couldn’t let us look after Imp because we were criminals and then he forgot that the forest had burned but then he remembered and blamed us for it! He was hurting Imp, and when we went to get closer he pulled out a… a… gun…” Somehow saying the word made the situation all the more real and he began to tremble.

     The Joxter’s eyes were like chips of ice as he spoke slowly and deliberately. “You are telling me. That  _ savage _ . Fired a gun. At Snufkin.”

     Moomin gulped. There was violence in those eyes. “Yes. The thing was so old that he was missing all over the place. Snufkin was charging-- he didn’t even slow down! I didn’t realize…”

     “Let me see him.” At Moominmamma’s stern command, Joxter turned and allowed her to see the damaged mumrik. “We need to get him into the house. I can get a better look there. I’m going to need instruments, and bandages.” Something flashed behind her eyes as she locked gazes with the older vagabond. When he turned and began carrying his small burden towards the safety of the domicile, Mamma put a hand on Moomin’s shoulder to keep him from following immediately.

     “Everyone needs to stay outside until I say otherwise.” Her tone was firm as she glared around the gathered family. Lowering her tone, the matriarch looked her only son in the eyes. “You should stay out here, dear. I know you want to be with him, but Imp needs a parent to look after them.” One paw raised up to forestall his protest. “Moomin, I don’t think Snufkin would want you to see.”

     Tears stung blue eyes as the young troll hung his head. It was true that Snufkin was unlikely to want anyone there to see him in pain, and Moomin never really had a stomach for wounds and treatments. They would have to remove the bullet, and it made his fur crawl to even think about how that would be accomplished. “You’re right.” His voice was husky. “I’ll take Imp.”

     “I’ll let you know as soon as you can see him.” Moominmamma hugged her child and turned, bustling away and disappearing through the door. The main window closed soon after. 

 

                                                          ***********************************************************

 

     Joxter carried his injured son into Moominhouse and laid him gently on the sofa, stroking a velvety paw over auburn locks. Snufkin grunted at the touch, brown eyes opening as he stared at the ceiling.

     “Where are Imp and Moomin?” 

     “They’re staying outside with the others.” Mamma came through the door and closed it firmly, motioning to Joxter to close the window. 

     “Good.” The mumrik’s voice was strained. “Don’t want them in here.”

     “Yes of course, dear.” She blinked softly at him and then beckoned the Joxter. “Come upstairs with me? I need help carrying my tools.” 

     Snufkin closed his eyes again as the two adults went padding up the steps.

     When they were out of earshot Mamma turned to her old friend as they ascended towards the Everything Room. “We have to decide how we’ll treat this.” A heavy sigh left her deep chest. “We don’t have water to spare for cleaning the wound, or for boiling the instruments, or for changing the bandage each day. I can sanitize my tools in the hearth fire if need be, but after that we have to decide what to do with regards to bleeding.”

     “What do you mean?”

     The female troll opened the door to the Everything Room, moving through the cluttered space with practiced ease. “We could potentially cauterize the injury, but we don’t have water to make a sleeping draught and going through that could put him in shock, which is dangerous considering how fragile his system is from thirst. As I said earlier, we don’t have water to clean the wound either; so we would have to rely on natural clotting to protect him from blood loss. Without the ability to clean the wound we run the risk of infection as well. Mostly it comes down to this: what do you think gives him a better chance?”

     The mumrik’s expression was grim as he considered the choices, tail flicking back and forth in agitation as Moominmamma knelt to retrieve an old looking medical bag. “I think… I think we have to leave it without cauterizing. If Snufkin goes into shock we don’t have much of a chance of… of saving him. We mumriks are fairly resistant to infection, so it’s better to chance that.”

     “Alright.” Mamma stood. “Go downstairs and get a fire going in the hearth. We had one last night so there should still be embers.” 

 

                                                                        **************************************************************

 

     The tools were allowed to cool off after being heated in the fire and were laid out on a clean cloth by the couch. After removing Snufkin’s shirt to be mended later, Joxter picked his son up and cradled him carefully, holding firmly around the boy’s knees and shoulders to keep him from moving too much during the procedure. Mamma disappeared into the kitchen and reemerged with a stout wooden spoon for stirring soups and placed it firmly between the boy’s jaws for him to bite against the pain.

     The wound was ugly, bruising around the edge and crusted with blood that was attempting to clot. “Are you ready?” Mamma’s gaze was sympathetic.

     Nodding tensely, Snufkin squeezed his eyes shut and told himself that he wouldn’t scream.

     He screamed.

     The sensation of long tweezers digging around in his chest was acutely painful, not to mention the feeling of  _ wrong _ that came from having something foreign jabbing him. Logically he knew it was to help him, and logically he knew that his father had to hold him down to prevent further injury, but to his tired mind and wounded body everything screamed  _ danger _ at him. The mumrik tried to wrest himself away from the gripping arms, the painful digging, but was just held more tightly.

_      Trapped trapped trapped danger danger!! _ Where was Moomintroll? Where was Imp? If he was captured here and being hurt then were they being hurt somewhere too? Did they leave him? Snufkin’s vision grayed around the edges with pain as he bit so hard on the spoon between his jaws that it began to splinter. Tail lashing wildly, the young traveler struggled again, dropping the broken spoon and baring sharp teeth at the arms holding him still.  _ Enemy trapped pain pain pain! Mate? Kit? Anyone? _

     Joxter felt his tired heart lurch at his offspring’s keening cry. He leaned down, trying to soothe the frightened boy with chirps and trills, but was only snapped at in reply. “Moominmamma, you’d best hurry.”

     “I’ve almost… there!” The matriarch finally withdrew her tweezers, dropping a chunk of metal onto the towel nearby. “Hold him just a minute longer while I bandage this and then we can let him go.” She efficiently covered the injury with a pad of fabric and then secured it by wrapping cloth around his chest once or twice. Having done that, she put up both paws and backed away. 

     Joxter set his struggling son down gently on the floor and then sprang backward, barely avoiding a swipe from a clawed paw. Growling, Snufkin crouched on all fours and looked around the room, eyes darting and looking for a place to hide; espying a likely spot, the mumrik gave a warning hiss and dove beneath the sofa, backing against the wall as far from the other beings as possible. 

     “Sshh, it’s alright, dear heart.” The older mumrik crouched to peer underneath the furniture, seeing his son’s huge eyes reflecting the light from the room back toward him. A fearful growl was all he got in response. “Mamma, will you go and get Moomin and Imp?” Joxter sighed. “I’m going to move this sofa into a corner where he can hide behind it and that should give room enough for the three of them.”

     “Of course.” Moominmamma wrapped everything in the towel and carried it into the kitchen to be taken care of later before going out onto the porch and calling for her son. Moomin appeared almost instantly, Imp scrambling in his wake.

     The young troll didn’t even wait for instruction, bursting into the living room and scanning for his mate with worried eyes. A plaintive cry sent his delicate ears pricking towards the corner; catching sight of Snufkin he scaled the sofa and dropped into the space behind it, curling around the mumrik and cooing to him. Imp squeaked and followed, opting to scamper under the furniture to be with their parents. 

     Worriedly the Joxter moved forward to see if Snufkin was calming any but was promptly warned away by a deep rumble from behind the couch. The man rubbed his temples exhaustedly with calloused paws. “I’ve made a strategical error.” His voice was long-suffering. “It’ll take hours to get them out of that corner now and I can’t nap on the sofa without being attacked.”

     “I’m sure you’ll survive.” Mamma ushered him out the door. “Let’s give them some peace.”

     Closing the door behind them, the pair were immediately assaulted by queries from the rest of the family. Assuring them that Snufkin was alive and resting, Mamma guided them all to the porch where they could sit and calm down.

     “I simply cannot believe that the Park Keeper would be so mad as to fire a gun at someone like that.” Moominpappa shook his head ponderously. 

     “I can.” Little My’s voice was flat. “He’s always been horrible.”

     All present shivered as the Joxter’s knife-sharp voice entered the conversation. “When Snufkin gets better I am going to go have  _ words _ with that hemulen.”

     Snork gave an uneasy snort. “Eh…no need. I don’t think he’ll be able to hear you.” At the mumrik’s questioning glance he elaborated. “Moomin told us more while you were in the house. Apparently he chased after the Park Keeper and as they were running the old git tripped and fell headfirst down a gully.”

     “How… disappointingly lucky for him.”

     Little My huffed at her step-father. “I’ll say.”

     Silence overtook the group, hanging over them like a thin shroud until Mamma stood and clapped her paws in a businesslike manner. “Well, good riddance to bad rubbish I say. Now then, let’s see if we can get some sort of meal together.” The sun had moved surprisingly far since the boys had set out that morning, and it now appeared to be somewhere in the late afternoon. “Sort of a lunch-dinner, if you will.”

     “Linner?” Snorkmaiden dusted off her fur as she rose. “Or perhaps Dunch?” 

     “I don’t care what you call it as long as I’m fed.” Little My went to open the door, stopping only when Mamma cautioned them all. 

     “Snufkin, Moomin, and Imp are all tucked into the corner. Give them space and let them come to us when they’re ready.”

 

                                                                    *************************************************************

 

      Moomintroll’s ears pricked at the sound of the front door opening and careful footsteps entering the living room. Snufkin, who was exhaustedly sitting between his mate’s legs and leaning back into the broad chest, jerked and gave a soft growl. The noise trailed off into a hiss of pain as the wound was jostled, causing Imp to look up from their spot next to Moomin and give a concerned chirp. 

     “Ssshh, love.” The young troll soothed his mate with a gentle paw, lightly brushing through the chestnut hair. “It’s only the others. You’re safe at Moominhouse.” 

     The young mumrik quieted at the caress, eyelids fluttering as his pupils slowly widened. “Mnh? M’minhouse?”

     “Yes.” 

     Imp looked up as a large, white shirt was tossed over the back of the couch. They stood, gripping the fabric in their little paws and pulling it down into the corner to present to their parents. Moomintroll took it gratefully, noting that he couldn’t see anyone’s head poking above the cushions and surmising that the delivery was brought by Little My. 

     “Is he going to bite me?” My’s voice confirmed the boy’s deduction.

     “Only if you bite first.” Snufkin’s voice was feeble, but signaled his return to full cognition.

     My came wiggling under the couch into their corner, biting her lip as Moomin carefully helped his mate don the shirt. “Hmph. I suppose I’ll be nice this time, but if you ever do something so monumentally stupid again I’ll bite you so hard you won’t be able to hold an instrument because you’ll be missing fingers.” Despite her acerbic tone, there was concern deep in the mymble’s eyes as her nose picked up the stale tang of blood.

     “I don’t really intend to get shot a second time.” Snufkin brushed his tail gently over his half-sister’s narrow shoulder. “I didn’t really intend to be shot the first time, to be fair.”

     “He won’t be firing any more guns.” Moomintroll rumbled, his tone somewhere between satisfied and angry. When Snufkin made a questioning noise the young troll quickly explained what had happened. 

     Little My sat beside Imp, absently running her little paws through their coarse fur. “Joxter was quite disappointed at that, by the way. I think he very much wanted to have the honor of  _ chatting _ with the old coot.”

     A rumble surprised her as Moomin snorted. “He would have had to get in line.” The normally peaceful boy’s eyes were hard.

     “Hush. There are children present.” My covered Imp’s little ears and gave the troll a haughty look. “What would Mrs. Fillyjonk say? You’re teaching the child violence!”

     “If anyone is going to teach them violence it’s you.” Sufkin let out an amused huff. 

     “Precisely. It’s my job and no one else’s.” Dipping a curtsey the mymble scampered away under the couch as Mamma’s soft call to the table was heard. 

     Moving carefully, Moomin stood and gently scooted the couch out from the corner to allow some space to leave through. Helping his mate, the young troll led the uncertain mumrik into the room proper and towards the table. The Joxter paid close attention as his kit gingerly slid onto a chair, wincing in discomfort and nearly swimming in his spare shirt. Sheepishly the young traveller looked to his parent in silent apology for his earlier behavior, getting a slow blink and a purr in reassurance. 

     The food was a general mix of whatever was closest to paw and easiest to make; fruit, preserves, crackers, and leftover bread were the main staples along with their meager water rations. No one complained. The day had been stressful and everyone was happy to simply fill their bellies and count their blessings. The Snork and his Sister leaned against one another for comfort, relaxing as Moominmamma hummed lowly in her chest and sent the air thrumming. Moominpappa joined her, the table vibrating with their soothing croons.

     Moomin anxiously looked to his mate, who was picking in disinterest at the food on his plate. The mumrik’s face was still ashen, skin clammy from the shock of his earlier ordeal. “Won’t you eat something more?”

      “I’m tired more than I’m hungry.” Snufkin sighed. “The sun is only going down now, but I think I’m going to make an early night of it.”

     “Give us a moment and we’ll join you.” Finishing his food rapidly, the young troll nudged Imp and then helped his injured partner from the table and out towards the door.

     “Let them have their privacy.” Mamma forestalled the Joxter’s move to follow them. “They’ve been through a lot.”

     He relented with a long suffering sigh. “Fine. I’m checking on them first thing tomorrow though.”

     “So around noon then?” My’s grin was wicked.

     “Listen here, you.” Joxter brandished a fork at her, a preserved cherry on the end of it. “I don’t have to take this sass, this--” He pulled his fork back, gazing morosely at the empty tines. 

     Little My jumped from her seat and skittered towards the stairs. “Mmm, I’m full. Think I’ll be off to bed now!”

     Moominpappa patted his friend’s shoulder soothingly as the mumrik stared after her. “Gets more like her mother every day.”

     Pappa shuddered. “A second Mymble. Worlds will shatter.”

     Mamma smiled serenely as she cleaned up the empty dishes. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Gods, you guys, I am SO sorry this took so long. This chapter for some reason didn't want to write itself and then I got all busy with school. Your occasional comments really gave me the motivation to work on this again, so thank you. I think we've only got maybe one chapter left. Nearly there!


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